


Cherry Wood and Golden Robes

by Skowronek



Series: Of Magic Things [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Character Development, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Crossover, Drama, Duelling, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Mahoutokoro (Harry Potter), Mahoutokoro!Yuuri, Mental Health Issues, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oral Sex, Pining, Rivalry, Russian Mythology, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Tension, Unreliable Narrator, Victuri, Wizarding World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 98,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skowronek/pseuds/Skowronek
Summary: When the up-and-coming Japanese wizard Yuuri Katsuki arrives in Sochi for his most important duelling competition so far, he expects to flub his duel, embarrass himself, and panic. He doesn’t expect to exceed his own expectations and gain a rival in the process.Or the Hogwarts AU in which sparks fly, literally.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Neither Harry Potter nor Yuri on Ice universes belong to me.

Calming Draughts could be addictive if used frequently.

Yuuri knew that too well.

You could say he knew that intimately, like one could know a lover – with a tingling sensation, with an overwhelming emotion, in an all-consuming moment.

It’s just his luck that he didn’t even have a lover.

***

Master Cialdini had ordered Yuuri’s robes ages before – black with fiery golden brims, a tasteful tribute to his achievements at school, in a standard knee-length duelling fashion which didn’t hold back Yuuri’s movements. Cialdini did keep repeating that if Yuuri was going to go down in history books for anything, it was going to be for his graceful moves on the platform. Why bother wasting power and blocking spells when you can get out of their way?

Yuuri stared at the robes now – there was really nothing out of ordinary about them, he’d worn similar countless times – and hoped he wouldn’t have to dress up and walk on the platform again.

He’d taken the last dose of his prescribed Calming Draught two days before – which meant ages ago, really, and he knew from experience that his withdrawal symptoms were coming.

Not that the draughts actually did that much. Yuuri knew full well he was a right mess with or without them. He hated the dull sensation that overcame his awareness soon after he took the potion, numbing his mind until the world seemed hazy, so Yuuri himself seemed to function in slow-motion, like the characters from the films that Mari liked to watch. He hated the fake sense of calm that came after, the magical illusion that Yuuri had his life under control while he knew full well that no, he didn’t, it was just a magic trick. And he hated the itchiness that soon followed – his fingers ready to spring to his wand, his steps jittery, his body waiting for the moment when the anxiety would strike back with full force.

Yuuri was still in the second stage now, but he could feel his body slowly building up tension in anticipation of both the tournament and the wave of anxiety that would hit soon, too soon, like an enraged ocean. He had had a few years of experience with the Calming Draught. Yuuri knew that this dosage would stop working soon after the tournament, and it was a calculated choice to take the potion two days earlier, so that the numbness would pass but the nerves could still be manageable.

Only, his last visit to a Healer had been six months ago. The dosage had been just fine back then. With the competitions far away and far ahead, Yuuri had felt much calmer, much more at ease. Nobody had expected what was happening now, and least of them Yuuri, so focused on the contest and on not being a nervous wreck that he missed what should have been obvious: he had become too accustomed to the potion.

Yuuri didn’t know if wizards were aware of addiction or immunity. But he was a half-blood, and a diligent student, and tried to keep up to date with both Muggle and Wizarding states of science. Yuuri had been taught about this back in Hasetsu, ages ago. He should have known.

And so it took him here. Six months since his last prescription, Yuuri stared down at his robes folded on the single bed in the simple, nondescript hotel room he shared with Master Cialdini. The tournament was going to start in two hours. Yuuri had just about the right amount of time to compose himself mentally (as if), change into his duelling robes, grab his wand and go to the duelling hall.

It was Yuuri’s first tournament in Russia. It didn’t feel any stranger than in Japan, Britain, USA or South Korea; Yuuri was used to travelling and competing in all parts of the world. But Russia felt more personal – it was Viktor Nikiforov’s country, after all, and it was here, of all places, that Yuuri faced the reigning champion, the most decorated duellist since Yuuri's idol, Harry Potter, had retired.

Yuuri had first got into duelling in childhood. His sister Mari had been keen to try some new moves. With Japanese wizards not facing the same restrictions about them using wands outside of their school that a lot of children abroad complained about, she quickly got to be the best at the Tickling Jinx out of all wizarding offspring in Hasetsu. Not that there were many – it was a small town, but a very old one. Wizards and non-wizards lived and breathed side by side, and there were enough of them to set up an afternoon school for the local children who needed to learn magic alongside their calculus and literature. As a child, Yuuri thought with a tingle of envy about all the kids who got to go to the famed Mahoutokoro School of Magic, but he knew he’d join them when he was eleven and could board. To his parents, commuting only seemed like an unnecessary hassle. Yuuri’s mother spoke from experience: she was a Mahoutokoro graduate herself, having gone through the entire school programme, starting at the age of 7 when she was small enough that she could not board, and had to be carried home every day on a back of a giant storm petrel.

To Yuuri, it sounded awesome. But his parents disagreed; and his father, non-magical as he was, remained a bit reluctant to allow his children to fly on birds to school every day. And so they stayed in Hasetsu until they both turned eleven and could finally board at Mahoutokoro. Hasetsu, Yuuri thought, was fine, really. Minako-sensei who taught him ballet at her private studio also doubled as their magic teacher three afternoons a week, and their classroom may not have been a chamber in a palace like at Mahoutokoro, but the curriculum was the same and they were always just a walk away from home.

But they didn’t have any proper duelling instruction there – Takeshi’s father would sometimes supervise and offer tips, but he was a wizarding fisherman, not a duellist. Minako-sensei was a fan herself, but she was a dancer, not a fighter, even though it was her who first showed Yuuri the elegance of some of the duelling moves. And so Yuuri and Mari simply kept duelling at home, under the shield of their mother’s protective spells and their father’s grumbling that he would have preferred if they had been into football instead.

It was when he got accepted into Mahoutokoro and left Hasetsu to board that Yuuri received proper duelling lessons. Mari, already bored with them after four years at the school, by then had shifted her interests into potions and house magic like their mother did; but to Yuuri, duelling had never lost anything of its first magic.

Duelling was only ever a means of letting himself go; to Yuuri, troubled by his anxiety and vulnerability, it always seemed temptingly contradictory – you had to let your magic flow through you, let your instincts guide you, let yourself be, and yet you still had to keep the whole performance under control. Yuuri never allowed himself to get sloppy with his other subjects, but it was duelling that he really excelled at.

He had got even better three years past, when the old sensei who had been teaching the art retired. The school hired a foreigner in his stead; a fairly young, energetic wizard named Cialdini, a former duelling champion, and a student to the famous Filius Flitwick from Great Britain and an acquaintance of none other than the living legend, Harry Potter. Yuuri felt quite lucky that he could study under Cialdini, even though like many professional duellists, the man favoured European magic over their ancient Japanese spells.

‘It’s best to know both’, Cialdini told him. ‘You’re going to have an edge over your rivals in international competitions’.

And international competitions had been their focus since the moment Cialdini first noticed Yuuri’s quick footing, his incredible creativity with the wand and the strength of his spells. Yuuri had participated in local competitions before, and had even taken part in the national duelling competition for young Japanese wizards, placing a respectable fifth – but it was under Cialdini’s guidance that he flourished, becoming Japan’s first young duellist and tackling international championships one by one, always finishing quite high.

And now, three years later, his achievements brought him here, to Sochi, for his first Grand Prix Final.

It really didn’t get more prestigious than this. Cialdini had been boasting about Yuuri for weeks now, proud like a peacock, and Yuuri felt uncomfortable under his warm gaze and quick praise. Yuuri had been dreaming of this moment – shyly, like you dream of a first kiss – but never had he dared to assume that he, too, would one day climb the most renowned duelling platform in the Wizarding World.

Only the elite managed to secure a place here; the best of the best, crème de la crème. Harry Potter had won three gold medals here before; the fiery Polish champion, Patrycja Zamaszewska, had secured a gold with the offensive spell she had crafted herself, inspired by dragon fire and rare spices; and there was the legendary Emilia Rodriguez, ruthless in a fight. Rumour had it that she wasn’t good at defensive spells; then again, she never needed them.

Yuuri was about to join them – no, not the victors, he was not as bold as to assume he would place high enough – but the contestants, the prodigies, the geniuses, and the hard-workers. Yuuri didn’t know to which category he himself belonged; he was no prodigy, to be sure. There was no genius spark in his mind or from his wand, and he knew that he could have been working harder. The gold hem of his robes seemed a bit mocking now that he was almost ready to put his consistent, predictable duelling season behind him. He didn’t know why he had been deemed worthy at school to be given the highest honour a Japanese wizard student could achieve – the gold of his robes, the colour which showed top results in every field of magic. Yuuri felt there had been better students than him, students who would have remembered not to get used to Calming Draughts and who would never have to spend two hours in their rooms before a major competition, shaking with dread the way Yuuri always did.

Yuuri doubted that any of the competitors in Sochi would tremble with trepidation like he was doing. They hadn’t interacted much, but to Yuuri, they always came across as confident, self-assured, the way a true champion should be. Yuuri wasn’t a true champion. He was just Yuuri.

And he was about to go against Christophe Giacometti, the Swiss favourite. Christ could charm his audience – no, he could _seduce_ them – and Yuuri always had trouble forming coherent sentences around him. Not that they had spent that much time together; Chris was by no means malicious or rude, but his personality stood out to Yuuri as too strong. Minako-sensei had mentioned she suspected Chris of dabbling in sexual magic. Yuuri didn’t know any spells like that and he certainly didn’t want to research. And yet, with Christ, Yuuri knew he could beat him; he’d done it before.

With Viktor Nikiforov, he couldn’t be so sure. Yuuri had never met the Russian champion before. Their competitions had never overlapped, and while Yuuri always read newspaper clippings about Nikiforov when he got hold of them (the man was, after all, a real, unequalled star), he always remained somewhere in the periphery of Yuuri’s awareness. It’s not that Yuuri didn’t admire him – it’s not like he didn’t aspire to be like him – it’s just that deep down he was painstakingly aware how impossible it was for him to come close to matching Nikiforov’s level.

On the platform, the man was like a god. Yuuri had never seen him live, but the animated photographs showed the glimpse of the fluidity of his movements, the elegance of his spells. For many competitors, duelling was only about sheer power; for Nikiforov, it was an art. Yuuri had only seen something similar the day Cialdini and Harry Potter met for a friendly practice duel. It had been his first year with his master then, and the British champion’s presence awed him. Potter’s movements had seemed natural, almost carefree in their executions, as if he didn’t have to give them any thought at all, and his spells radiated power seemingly without any effort on his part. Nikiforov was capable of something similar, but with more gentleness, the steel kind which showed hidden strengths beneath.

Thinking about it now, Yuuri felt a shiver of anticipation running down his spine. For a second, it overcame his nerves. This was something he had never expected when he first left Hasetsu for school – a chance to meet the best of the best, a chance to prove himself against them.

Not that he could prove that much, though, Yuuri thought. He was great at fucking up.

***

‘Yuuri’, Celestino called. ‘It’s time’.

Usually, it was Phichit who would collect Yuuri before a competition; Phichit, who duelled as well, but had yet to reach an international level as a senior duellist and hoped this would be his breakthrough season. It was a simple ritual they had. It calmed Yuuri down as he fastened his wand in the holster. But Phichit was still at school, and as much as Mahoutokoro was proud of their soon-to-be alumnus, they didn’t want to send the younger student to cheer Yuuri on. Yuuri understood; they had travelled together before, competed together before, but he was not worth skipping exams for.

So it was down to Celestino to walk Yuuri through in Phichit’s stead. The man stood by as Yuuri laced his soft leather boots and then helped Yuuri into his duelling robe. As always, it was of the standard design, black, reaching just below the knees, allowing a lot of movement. The competitors were allowed to choose the colour of the hem – the only visible difference other than the size – and this year, Yuuri’s was golden, reminiscent of the new colour of his school robes. It was the only difference from last year; Yuuri didn’t think he would ever get used to it.

‘I’m ready’, Yuuri said then, like he always did, even though often he was not.

***

Only six duellists always made it to the Final. They came from all over the world, the very best. To stand now beside them felt like an insult to their accomplishments. Yuuri made an effort to stay focused as a wizard in a set of ornamental red robes pointed his wand at a golden chalice; the artefact was always used to choose the duellists fairly. Yuuri knew the procedure and his nerves didn’t let him follow the official’s long and heavily accented speech. Instead, he let his eyes wander – the arena was enormous, easily more spacious than any other Yuuri had seen so far, designed for an audience of a thousand or maybe even more. And in the very middle stood the platform – long as they were, made of polished oak wood, with a gold engraving reading _SOCHI 2015_ on both sides.

Yuuri knew he’d only have one duel today; out of the six competitors, the three winners would duel with each other tomorrow. Yuuri didn’t think he’d even qualify to the next round. It was, after all, his first time here. His experience was next to none, his spells the worst, his mind the most treacherous. He dreamed to set his foot on the platform, and he would. The podium was a different matter.

The chalice shimmered with magic, interrupting his anxious thoughts. Everybody fell silent. Yuuri could feel the cracks of magic in the air, the buzz of anticipation, the shivers of excitement – and then the chalice spit out a slip of parchment. The official caught it with no difficulty, reading out in a solemn tone:

‘Cao Bin of China versus Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland’.

Yuuri didn’t glance at the two men. The applause from the audience, loud and overwhelming, resonated in his head. He felt relieved that he didn’t have to duel Giacometti, who was one of the strongest duellists in the field. But Nikiforov was yet to be paired, and so was Yuuri, and to think that he could be forced to face the living legend...

‘Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan versus Viktor Nikiforov of Russia’.

An intake of breath. The applause was even more boisterous this time. Yuuri closed his eyes, breathed out, and focused on the official in the red. He already knew who was going to be his rival.

‘Yuuri Katsuki of Japan versus Michael Crispino of Italy’.

***

Yuuri really, really hated this part.

Stepping onto the platform was fine; waiting was not. Yuuri would be the happiest if he could hide in the antechamber he’d spotted earlier, so that he could stretch, relax, and focus. But Celestino had been adamant that Yuuri should watch his competitors in person.

‘It’s a unique opportunity, Yuuri’, he’d insisted. ‘It’s such a pity we don’t have those film things that Muggles do’.

They did have a Pensieve, though, or rather Celestino had one; it contained hundreds of memories of the duels he’d witnessed. He insisted they dissect them all, one by one. Yuuri usually enjoyed the evenings which they dedicated to that, especially if Phichit joined them too. But viewing his own old performances was a terrible task, and watching his competition in person was always even worse.

Giacometti had a brighter _Stupefy_ , Yuuri knew – and brighter meant quicker to strike. Crispino’s performances were always fuelled by a kind of fierce emotion Yuuri didn’t know how to identify; he only knew this was a kind of drive he himself lacked. Altin’s quiet determination translated well into his spells; Yuuri knew from experience that facing him was a lot like playing chess, and it was a game Yuuri never excelled at. Cao Bin’s strength lay in defence and Yuuri had always admired the man’s perfect shields, only adding a tint of a grudge to it when he had to overpower them. And Nikiforov, well, Yuuri could probably write an essay on the man’s duelling prowess and Yuuri’s own shortcomings.

Cao Bin and Christophe Giacometti were going first. Yuuri stood, tense, in the area where the competitors and their instructors were allowed to watch the show. Celestino joined him, enthusiastic as always.

‘This is going to be a terrific match’, he said loudly. ‘I wonder what Cao Bin can do against Christophe’.

Cialdini was fond of the Chinese duellist; he had worked with him some years before taking on Yuuri and the two still remained on friendly terms.

‘They’re so different’, Yuuri agreed.

It was true; Cao Bin was a strong defensive duellist, but Giacommeti was a very forward player, not aggressive, but certainly assertive and unhesitant. Yuuri looked up to see the audience. Giacometti had a very active fan base – his popularity must have had something to do with his flirtatious personality and attractive looks – and they were very vocal now, shouting, whistling, and sending up sparks with their wands, all in red and white, Switzerland’s colours. Cao Bin, who was a respectable duellist with a long and impressive career, didn’t have the same sparkling way with the media. His fans were not as many, though they did, too, show their encouragement.

‘Watch Giacometti’, Celestino ordered softly. Yuuri nodded. It was a logical advice. Cialdini knew Cao Bin’s fighting style, and by extension, Yuuri was familiar with it, too. But Giacometti’s was less certain.

The duel began. Yuuri watched keenly as spells started flying – as they had assumed, Cao Bin went into defence rather quickly, shielding himself behind elaborate shields and conjuring up rocks which exploded into Giacometti’s face when they appeared on the way of the Swiss’ stunners and curses.

Giacometti moved like a giant cat, fluid and swift and deadly, never still in one place. His wand looked like one long movement. It was hard to keep up with the colours of his spells. The man preferred silent incantations for their swiftness and the element of surprise, so the colours of the beams were the only indication. Yet, impressive as they were, they all missed the target.

Cao Bin didn’t move. He didn’t have to. His shields were strong. His Transmutation skills were unparalleled; behind them, the man stood sure and calm. Yuuri knew he relied on the same technique he’d perfected years ago, when he’d been still training under Celestino.

‘It’s not gonna work’, he observed. Cao Bin began Transfiguring the rocks into a swarm of birds which attacked Giacometti’s arms and face; the man waved frantically, setting them on fire to shocked gasps of the audience. The flame went directed at Cao Bin and promptly down in a flood of water which soaked Giacometti through.

‘No, it’s not’, Cialdini agreed contemplatively. ‘This trick is too old. Christophe knows of it’.

‘He’s gonna make the opening now’, predicted Yuuri.

As it was, Cao Bin was preparing to do what he had always been doing. First, he tired down his opponent with the unwavering strength of his defence. Then, he made a movement to drop one of the shields and let a curse out, usually something strong and unexpected enough that the other player would be hit. Yuuri could see the exact moment Cao Bin lowered one of his shields and tipped his wand to cast a Knee-Reversal Hex.

‘Brilliant’, Yuuri breathed. It was. The spell was simple but powerful, and with Christophe moving as much as he was, it would knock him off for the precious second needed to follow with a stronger spell and win the match.

‘Ineffective’, Cialdini disagreed. It was. Christophe spotted the opening the moment Yuuri did, moved out of the way of the spell and used the chance to blast through Cao Bin’s weakened shield with a loud scream.

‘ _Stupefy!_ ’, he roared.

It was over.

‘An idiot boy’, Celestino said. He was referring to Cao Bin, although the duellist was over thirty years old. ‘He should’ve seen it coming. To get this predictable...’

Yuuri said nothing. Cao Bin was being Reenervated and escorted off the platform while Giacometti’s fanbase screamed. _It can’t be me_ , Yuuri thought, thinking about the Chinese man. _I won’t bear it._

Yuuri could imagine himself, the screams of the audience ringing in his head, reverberating in his heart, booing him, cheering Crispino. He knew then it would be over. He’d never be able to shake off this defeat. Not here, not in Sochi, not when it was the Grand Prix Final.

He began to feel as if his head was enveloped inside the ball created by the Bubble-Head Charm, separating him from the outside world. _Breathe_ , he said to himself. _It’s not you out there, it’s Cao Bin._

‘Yuuri’, Cialdini’s voice sounded somewhere near him. ‘Count to ten. Count with me. One. Two. Three...’.

Yuuri counted.

***

By the time Nikiforov and Altin stepped on the platform, Yuuri had calmed down. The panic attack left him feeling heavy, as if his joints were leaden. He longed for a Restorative Draught, but they were not allowed too early before the competition. He was sure there was no way he’d win in this state.

‘Just go there and be yourself’, Celestino said. It was a wrong kind of advice.

‘I’ll be sure to go out there and panic’, Yuuri agreed tiredly.

He wanted to crawl under the covers of his hotel bed – or better yet, his old bed in Hasetsu. He wanted to sleep there until his mind calmed down and his magic felt light like a cherry blossom and not a decaying gnarl it was.

‘Yuuri’. Cialdini’s tone was gentle but admonishing. Yuuri ignored him.

Heavy dread settled in his stomach, cold and familiar like the ocean back at home. This was different from the previous panic that overwhelmed him with an unfightable pressure. This was something he was almost used to. Turning away from Celestino, Yuuri decided to watch the duel which had already started.

Viktor Nikiforov looked on the platform the same way he looked in newspaper clippings: like a marble statue, pale and unreachable. He seemed comfortable in his duelling robes with blue hems, though, and the expression on his face was relaxed, almost friendly. Yuuri knew he could never achieve this state of calm and surety. Not during a competition. Maybe this state of mind is only something you can have when you’re so much better than your opponent that you don’t have to care.

‘ _Serpensortia!’_ , Altin called. A snake, long and strong, shot out of his wand. Nikiforov banished it with an elegant flick as if swapping a fly. With a swish, he turned the same movement into a dab that sent Altin stumbling.

Yuuri, raised his eyebrows, impressed.

‘It’s like he’s choreographing it, isn’t it’, Cialdini said. ‘He’s got a mind of a genius, plenty of magic and a very good muscle memory’.

As if to confirm it, Nikiforov blocked Altin’s string of curses with a single shield. Yuuri watched as the amplified Protego held one, two, three, four courses. And then Nikiforov stepped forward and took his arm out, pushing, pushing, until the shield moved towards Altin with the speed and force of a bullet.

‘How...’, Yuuri muttered. ‘He’s attacking with a defensive spell!’.

‘Is it even legal?’, Cialdini muttered, but they both knew the answer: it was legal because nobody had attempted this before.

And on the platform, Nikiforov was like an ocean wave, elegant and terrifying. A flick of his wand and spells cascaded on Altin with a force that was barely stoppable; and yet Yuuri thought Nikiforov seemed to hold back, prolonging the duel with Altin simply because _he was enjoying it._ Spells flew, always hitting the shields, and then Nikiforov got bored with blocking and simply _jumped_ out of the way of the overpowered Leg-Binding Spell. Altin sent another jinx in his way, this time aiming higher; this, Nikiforov blocked with a simple Protego he then cast aside to attack with a sequence of _Confringo, Reducto, Relashio!_ But Altin blocked them all. For a second, Nikiforov’s concentration shifted; something akin to joy flickered in his eyes. He blocked Altin’s attack with ease, swirled out of the way of an _Expulso!_ and started the wand movement for the Stunner; Altin immediately moved to counter it, rising a Shielding Spell high, predicting where Nikiforov would strike; only Nikiforov never cast the Stunner.

‘ _Petrificus Totalus!’_ , he intoned instead, suddenly aiming low at Altin’s unprotected feet. The spell hit true; there was a certain finality to Nikiforov’s words, a falling cadence; he knew he’d win and he could choose any manner to do so. Altin froze and began falling to the ground.

 _He’s gonna hit his head,_ Yuuri winced in his mind. He knew from experience that the edge of the platform was sharp. Altin fell; Nikiforov stood in the same spot, his face expressionless and his silver hair ruffled.

‘Beautiful’, Yuuri said. Altin was being levitated by the Healers. Nikiforov turned his head to the audience, slowly, like an afterthought, and then give them a blinding smile.

‘It’s something, isn’t it?’, Celestino said. ‘Now that Potter doesn’t compete anymore, I think Nikiforov won’t have any serious rivals yet. But just wait, Yuuri, we up your game and you’re gonna go for the gold next year!’.

 _As if_ , Yuuri thought, _that would ever happen._

***

‘ _Confringo!’,_ Crispino shouted.

Yuuri moved, his muscles acting before his mind did. The platform felt steady underneath his feet. Yuuri leapt forward, _Impedimenta!_ on his lips, followed by a silent Stunner. Crispino blocked the first one and moved out of the way of the second. He responded with an angry-sounding Ventus Jinx. Yuuri cast a quick _Avis!_ , shielded himself just in time to block the gust, and let the conjured flock of birds fly on the wind when it bounced off his Protego and boomeranged back towards Crispino. No time to waste; Yuuri ducked when a Stunner aimed at his head, and cast a silent sequence of Rictusempras mixed with Langlocks; he hoped the tongue-binding spell would throw Crispino off. The Italian favoured shouted incantations for their easier power.

It worked. The man paused for a fraction of the second when one Langlock glued his tongue to the palate, and that was all Yuuri needed to leap forward again like a fencer and cast a Blasting Curse. It hit Crispino in his stomach; the man flew backwards in an arch, and Yuuri reacted again with a quick Cushioning Spell, softening his fall.

He did it.

***

‘Good thinking with the Blaster’, Celestino praised with a huge grin on his face. ‘And the Langlock, Merlin, I knew it was a good trick to show you... Great job, Yuuri. You’ve just got yourself a medal!’.

‘I have, haven’t I?’, Yuuri said. His tone was flat.

Now that the duel was over, his anxiety crept up back; he had somehow managed to dismiss the public out of his mind before, but now he was more than aware of the screaming audience. There were interviews to be made and fans to be greeted – and all Yuuri wanted was to take a bath and eat dinner.

And maybe Firecall Phichit. He must have been going crazy there at school.

‘Your scores are high’, Celestino said; Yuuri was too dazed to pay attention to them. ‘Not a personal best but close enough, 109.6. You’re going to stay in the top five overall if you keep this up tomorrow’.

Tomorrow, when he was going to face either Giacometti or Nikiforov, and Yuuri didn’t know what was worse – to get bested by the Swiss or by the Russian. With Nikiforov, he would at least save his dignity. It’s not like there was a duellist in Sochi right now who could give him a run for his money, but to lose against a competitor who was not even the best, well, it was bad enough.

‘Now you’ve made it to the second round, we need to sit down tonight and analyse your rivals’ performances so you know what to expect’, Celestino announced, leading him out of the arena and into the chamber where the journalists had already gathered. ‘We need a fresh review to see if they’ve changed their tactics and how you can adapt to them’.

‘Right’, Yuuri just said. So much for the bath.

***

‘I’m so proud of you, Yuuri!’, Phichit’s head exclaimed. ‘We all are. We met up in my room and listened to the wireless commentary and oh Yuuri, they made you sound so _awesome_ , I bet you were a badass out there’.

‘Thanks, Phi’, Yuuri sighed. He was stretching on the floor in his hotel room, Phichit’s head in front of him, surrounded by the green Floo flames. ‘We can watch it together in the Pensieve when I get back but it really wasn’t anything special’.

‘Yuuri’, Phichit pouted. ‘The commentary made it sound spectacular! Everybody praised that Avis trick, you need to teach me that when you come back’.

‘I actually never practised that’, Yuuri admitted sheepishly, bending so it forehead touched his right knee. ‘It was just a sudden thought I had’.

‘That’s brilliant!’, Yuuri couldn’t see him from his position on the floor, but Phichit sounded stunned. ‘So we need to practice that anyway. What did Celestino say?’

‘That it was risky but worked so he can’t complain. Then he started going on about my leg alignment in the lunge before the Impedimenta Jinx and only stopped when a reporter spotted us’.

‘You’ve got the best alignment of all of us’, Phichit said. ‘I’m gonna have words with Celestino’.

‘Phichit, no’.

‘Phichit yes’, Phichit said. ‘The commentary didn’t even pick up on it so it couldn’t have been so terrible. You’ve just advanced to the final of the Final! The man needs to lighten up and celebrate your success’.

‘That’s your role, Phi, not Cialdini’s. He’s supposed to teach, not to have fun’.

Yuuri switched to his other leg just in time to see his best friend pout.

‘You’re a spoilsport, Yuuri’, he whined.

Yuuri smirked.

‘So, how was your Charms exam? You didn’t say’.

‘Yuuri!’

***

‘ _Densaugeuo!’_

‘ _Confringo!’_

_‘Stupefy!’_

Yuuri twirled, moving out of the spell’s way. It flew past his ear in a swish of red light. No time to waste. He lunged forward, throwing three hexes in a sequence like Celestino had been teaching him; then he moved out of the way, leaping right, throwing a Stunner as Giacometti responded to his attack with an overpowered _Diffindo!_.

 _What a dick_ , Yuuri thought and rolled out of the way. He sent a Stunner again and then jumped to the left, avoiding a sequence of hexes. Giacometti suddenly cast a Diffindo again, and this time it cut through the material of Yuuri’s robes as he ducked to avoid it. A piece of clothing with the golden hem fell to the ground but Yuuri paid it no mind, already moving into another lunge to cast Ventus, but then Giacometti aimed low, straight into his chest. Yuuri jerked and rolled to the left but it was a bad move; he could feel his knee giving in.

Yuuri dragged himself up through the sudden pain; the motion was swift but slower than at the practice, and he shielded himself just in case. Hurling an angry _Impedimenta!_ , he followed with a Stunner and a pissed-off _Avis!_ , which Giacometti transfigured into fireballs that swished back at Yuuri.

 _Shit._ Yuuri blocked the fire with a wall of water which began to fall down like a waterfall. Yuuri hoped to direct it to flood Giacometti off the platform but the man transfigured it into ice and slid into a lunge opening for another Stunner. Yuuri swore and skid on his good leg, responding in kind. Giacometti transfigured some of the ice into an actual shield – and Yuuri was no expert but it looked medieval – and it would’ve bounced the spell back at Yuuri, he just knew.

‘ _Accio!_ ’, Yuuri howled, the force of the spell wrestling the shield out of Giacometti’s grip, and the metal plate tilted just enough for the Stunner to ricochet somewhere right of Yuuri, where it disappeared in the protective bubble that cordoned off the platform from the audience.

Pleased with his manoeuvre, Yuuri barely had time to react against Giacometti’s Petrificus Totalus which flew straight at Yuuri’s head.

 _Shit._ Yuuri moved to raise the shield but he was too slow, too inattentive. _My mistake._ The spell hit him; for a second he stood there stupidly, the medieval shield in one hand and the cherry wand in the other. Then he stumbled backwards. No spell was there to cushion his fall.

***

When he came to, Yuuri’s first thought was _how can I face Nikiforov now_. The second was _my knee is on fire_.

There wasn’t anything to be done about either. The Healers forced a few phials of potions into him, and when the medicine kicked in, the pain lessened considerably. But the knee was as twisted as it had been; the thought of going out again, stepping onto the platform and fighting with the reduced mobility was terrifying – especially since Yuuri’s style depended on agility.

And was there any point, really? He knew he’d lose anyway. Yuuri was a dime-a-dozen duellist with a bad knee. Nikiforov was like a god on the platform, and on an entirely different level than Yuuri, who was betrayed by his anxiety even on his better days, and now his body was giving up on him too.

‘You have a decision to make, Yuuri’, Celestino said carefully. He was sitting next to Yuuri’s bed in the small hospital room provided by the organizers. A Healer turned away, not leaving, but at least giving them some illusion of privacy which Yuuri appreciated. ‘You can fight with the injury and possibly worsen your condition’, he said, echoing Yuuri’s thoughts. ‘Or you can withdraw and heal. You’re medalling anyway, and bronze is a respectable achievement. Nobody is going to fault you’.

‘ _I’m_ going to fault myself’, Yuuri replied.

And he knew he would. Withdrawing didn’t feel honourable. Nikiforov deserved to win fair and square, in a duel, not because Yuuri was too cowardly to face him because his knee made him even a worse duellist than usually.

‘It would seem like I’m scared’, Yuuri continued when Celestino said nothing.

‘The IDU is prepared for it if you decide to withdraw’, Celestino answered gently. ‘You know that, right? You’re not the first competitor to miss a duel because of an injury. It’s a sport. Things happen’.

‘It’s an easy way out’, Yuuri said. He felt surreal; as if the real him was standing next to his bed, both legs perfectly okay, and was going to walk out in a moment and join Nikiforov on the platform, and duel because that’s what he was born to do. The real him, who didn’t fuck up and twist his knee so badly that it required physical therapy with a Healer and weeks off the platform.

But the other part of Yuuri, the side which still sat on the bed in the hospital room, knew that it was a mirage; it couldn’t be real that Yuuri wouldn’t have fucked up because that’s what Yuuri always, always did. A lost duel here, a spell that was underpowered, a tumble here and there, a panic attack before the duel – Yuuri knew them all, like old friends, almost as intimately as he knew the touch of anxiety in his chest.

He really, really needed a Calming Draught.

Yuuri knew Celestino was right. The International Duelling Federation must have been prepared to act if any injuries happened, and injuries happened every season. But they had never happened to him before, at least not this serious, and never during a _Grand Prix Final._

So Yuuri looked straight into Celestino’s eyes and answered as calmly as the sinking feeling in his chest let him.

‘’I’m going out there, Celestino’, he told his Duelling Master. ‘I can’t fail even more. I—I have to try’.

***

The conference might turn out more trying than the duel. Yuuri managed to wobble to the chamber where it was going to be held, cursing in his mind and gripping Cialdini’s arm hard enough that the man winced. The other duellists had already been there; Yuuri could see Giacometti’s back as the blond man was replying to some questions in his native German. And Nikiforov, well, Yuuri couldn’t have missed him if he’d tried.

Nikiforov commanded the middle of the room, a group of reporters around him. He was smiling and somehow that made him more innocent and more dangerous at the same time. Yuuri turned his gaze somewhere else, aware that he’d been staring, but before he looked away completely, Nikiforov briefly locked his eyes with Yuuri’s. His face was now blank.

‘Mister Nikiforov’, a booming voice asked then in English and the wizard turned towards the journalist, his face already sporting the same smile again. ‘What are your thoughts on the situation with Yuuri Katsuki? Are you considering him a threat despite his injury?’

Yuuri watched as Nikiforov tilted his head, thoughtful.

‘I’m sorry’, he replied to the journalist. ‘Who?’

***

_So, this is how it’s going to be._

One day and one spectacular loss later – and no, better not call it spectacular, this may imply some sort of positivity about it, it was _pathetic –_ Yuuri Apparated to a bathroom to avoid walking and to avoid people. The bathroom was, thankfully, empty; there was no sound there other than Yuuri’s uneven footsteps, shaky breaths, and ghoulish sounds of running water. Yuuri locked himself inside a stall, sitting down on a toilet lid.

He’d flubbed the duel. It was, by far, the worst loss in his career – he’d barely blocked one spell and then, when Nikiforov fired another, Yuuri idiotically forgot that he might be functioning on heavy painkillers but his leg was not alright, and he _jumped_ out of the spell’s way. Of course, it didn’t work. He didn’t even have a chance to attack Nikiforov with a single offensive spell before the duel was over.

Yuuri didn’t know why it bothered him that Nikiforov hadn’t spoken one word to him. There was nothing in IDU regulations about having a conversation with your opponent. And yet, usually, there was _something_ , a simple greeting or a thank-you. But Nikiforov kept silent throughout the whole time, idly nodding to greet Yuuri, then bowing without a word, and casting only silent spells. He didn’t thank for the duel either, but then again, that Yuuri could understand. He wouldn’t have thanked himself after that dismal performance. 

Nikiforov had obviously been fine not acknowledging Yuuri’s existence in any way.

Yuuri let his breath out loudly. 

_Fine. Fine._ He would survive the next few hours somehow – he wasn’t sure how and that was something to figure out in the next couple of minutes – and then he would go home, crawl under a rock and die.

Disappointment tasted like ice and salt. It wasn’t a pleasant combination. Yuuri took a few deep, uneven breaths; he could feel his muscles trembling.

Maybe he should just sit there. There was a chance that everybody would forget about the talentless Japanese duellist. It seemed he wasn’t really memorable – only his failures were. Yuuri wanted to go out there, pretend he was strong and the duel was _nothing_ , just like Nikiforov seemed to think. He also wanted to stay in the bathroom stall indefinitely, so that people who had watched Yuuri would move on with their lives and forget about the disappointment he was.

His thoughts were choking him; Yuuri suddenly let go, allowing himself to cry openly for the first time. Briefly, he thought about erecting a privacy ward. But there was nobody here, only Yuuri, and he dropped the wand on the bathroom tiles.

 _It’s going to get germs on it,_ Yuuri thought uselessly. His mind was twirling, swirling, whirling, like a snowstorm. Yuuri hoped it could cover him all with a pile of snow, reducing him to snowdrops, or to frost. He leaned down and put his hands next to his feet on the tiles, _they’re gonna get the germs too,_ finding comfort in the cold, anchoring himself to the outside world if his inner mind was going to be treacherous.

Somewhere on his right, there was an echo of a burbling pipe. Yuuri heard it as if through water; the sound was slow, distant, echoic, and yet too loud, cutting straight into Yuuri’s mind. Yuuri forced himself to breathe through it, the same way he’d breathed through the pain of the twisted knee, through every humiliating loss before, through every mishap that somehow, every time, became cosmic.

‘Are you gonna leave or what?’

This wasn’t a pipe.

The voice sounded young and angry, with the kind of strong lilt, both soft and harsh, that Yuuri had started to identify with Slavic languages. Slowly, he brought his hands back to his knees. 

Was there a way he could disappear? He’d heard that the British Ministry of Magic used some charm that involved transportation through toilets – _disgusting, though –_ but he really doubted the IDU would come up with it, too.

‘Get out!’

He could Apparate back. But something held Yuuri back. It was one thing to face one teenager, angry as he seemed. It was another to face a whole room of wizards. Yuuri could imagine what he looked like – eyes red, face swollen, not to mention the knee.

No, the teenager was a better option. Yuuri took a breath in – _It’s like breathing is all I’m doing_ – and opened the door to the bathroom stall with a creek.

The kid was short and lean, sporting a shimmering overrobe that had moving animal prints on it. For a second, Yuuri couldn’t help but close his eyes and blink.

‘I’m sorry’, Yuuri apologized, just in case. He didn’t recognise the kid, even though the kid obviously knew him; and apologies were all well since Yuuri had a lot to feel sorry for.

_Like losing two duels, for example._

‘You’, the kid said. Even his blond hair looked fiery. ‘I spent the whole tournament trying to get to talk to you and you’re hiding in the bathroom?’

Yuuri gaped.

‘Pathetic’, the kid sputtered.

Yuuri opened his mouth.

‘Shut up’, the kid said. Yuuri did. ‘I’m not done talking’.

Yuuri stared. _Who was this kid, anyway?_

‘You flub one duel and mope until you lose another’, the kid accused. ‘And here I thought you actually had spine’.

‘What...?’

‘You ask me that’, the kid spat out. ‘What kind of a duellist gives up after one bad day?’

Yuuri didn’t respond. It seemed they both knew.

‘Why did you hide here, huh?’, the kid drawled on. He didn’t look as if he was expecting an answer.

Yuuri offered one anyway.

‘I don’t want to deal with people now’.

The kid, of course, didn’t take the hint.

‘Well get over it then’, he spewed. ‘Why did you come here in the first place?’, he repeated.

‘I’ve just told you’, Yuuri said, calmly, too calmly. ‘I flubbed the duel so I didn’t want to deal with people’.

‘Bullshit’, the kid interrupted. ‘You won a fucking medal, you idiot, and you came here to _mope?’_

 _Well, not exactly_ , Yuuri wanted to say. But, really, it wasn’t the kid’s business. Yuuri still didn’t even know his name. The teenager looked like an angry baby tiger, all steamed up, and maybe, if it wasn’t him that got cornered off in a bathroom, Yuuri would laugh.

The kid stepped back, turning slowly towards the door. _Yes,_ Yuuri thought. _Go already. I’m not stopping you._

‘I was looking forward to facing you in a duel someday’, the kid continued. ‘When I finally enter senior division’.

Yuuri listened, baffled. The kid was still speaking, as if they were having a random chat in the banquet hall where Yuuri should definitely be heading for soon.

‘But it looks like you don’t have the balls to continue, Katsuki’, the kid said. ‘Let’s see’.

That was the only warning Yuuri got. A spell travelled at him, fast as a lightning, and Yuuri shuffled behind the bathroom door, reaching for the discarded wand on the floor. _Idiot_ , he thought, _I’m an idiot_ , and then he fired a frantic _Expelliarmus!_ which the kid blocked with a shrug.

‘So you’ve got your wand, huh?’, he taunted. ‘Looks like you’ve found your balls, Katsuki. See you out there’.

Yuuri looked at the closing door and then at the cherry wand in his hand.

***

The banquet sounded like a dreadful idea.

Yuuri’s dress robes – his golden robes from school because he hadn’t expected to medal so, of course, he hadn’t thought he would have to attend the event – felt strangely uncomfortable to walk in. Yuuri decided it was because of the knee.

But it didn’t matter. Yuuri needed to show up. Then he could Apparate straight into his hotel room and tomorrow they’d catch the Portkey home and it would be finally, blissfully, over.

He didn’t mingle and didn’t drink. The first one was impossible because he was Katsuki Yuuri and he knew spells and moves and curses (although apparently not as well as he wanted), but he didn’t know anything about small talk. The second was equally unachievable because the potions he took for the knee didn’t go well with alcohol. They didn’t go well with the Calming Draught, either. _Shit._

He had accidentally locked eyes with Nikiforov, again. The man looked away; he was as detached as you could get, as if Yuuri was a piece of furniture or transparent like a glass of water. Nobody at a party ever paid attention to a glass of water. There was nothing in it to drink in.

Much later, when many spells will have been cast and many potions taken, Yuuri will realize this was his turning point.

But at that moment, at a dull yet dreary banquet in Sochi, Yuuri was only fed up with himself, with his leg, with his bronze medal, with the angry kid who attended the banquet too and watched Yuuri with eyes like two flames; and most of all, he was fed up with Viktor Nikiforov.

Much later he will think that when he wobbled to Celestino and said _I’m gonna get much better – I’m gonna win next year_ , it didn’t come as a surprise. Not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is what happens when I should be busy doing other things... I've got everything planned and I'm really excited about this story. Tentatively I'm planning to update every two weeks. It may change but hopefully that would only mean I publish more often. 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this so far, and please tell me what you think! I don't have a beta so all mistakes are entirely my fault. I have a [tumblr](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/), if you're into that. You're welcome to visit it to see what's up because I tend to ramble on about my writing there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here you are, Chapter 2!  
> I can't stress enough how thankful I am for all the comments and kudos and subscriptions, like, I never expected this fic to be received so well, thank you!

‘It’s not that bad, Yuuri’, Phichit exclaimed cheerfully. ‘We can practice duelling when you’re the unmoving opponent’.

It was easier said than done. Yuuri, of course, could do that – and he’d spent his fair share of practices imitating Cao Bin’s posed, defence-focused style in which no acrobatics were needed and the strength lay in powerful shield spells. But it had only ever been Yuuri’s personal choice to do that, never a necessity.

Yuuri leaned back on the couch and grabbed his cherry wand from the night table. He cast a simple Freezing Spell on his bad knee while Phichit gently fussed over the still swollen, bruised knee.

 ‘Do you need more pillows to keep the knee up?’, he asked.

‘No, thanks’, Yuuri said. ‘I just need one to smoulder you with’.

Phichit had been an absolute mother-hen, moving his protective tendencies from his illegally kept hamsters and onto his legally existing best friend. Yuuri, who just wanted to sleep a bit or die a little, was rather fed up with him.

‘I’m wounded’, Phichit said, dramatically. ‘Here I am, taking care of you like a proper best friend would, and you won’t even let me do it’.

‘And I’m injured but you want me to let you hex me when I can’t move’, Yuuri pointed out. ‘It’s not even a proper duelling practice, Phi, it’s just _humiliation_ and disregard of my human rights as your friend’.

Phichit looked unperturbed. He levitated one of his hamsters onto Yuuri’s chest – and Yuuri was sure there was something, somewhere, about hazards of levitating animals in his textbooks because this couldn’t be safe and healthy – then patted Yuuri’s head, patted the hamster, and flopped down on the couch next to Yuuri.

‘I want to help you get better’, Phichit said. ‘You’re gonna be a better duellist afterwards’.

Yuuri thought that, at least, was true – he certainly wasn’t good enough – but he knew that mentioning that to Phichit would result in a long lecture. And that was not a bright idea if Yuuri couldn’t escape. The Apparition ban in school dormitories was so bothersome sometimes.

‘Phi, let it go’, Yuuri said instead. The hamster was running away and Phichit lounged after his pet, painfully landing on Yuuri’s injured leg. Yuuri let out a groan.

‘Sorry, sorry, are you okay?’, Phichit fussed immediately. Yuuri was not – the knee pulsed with a pain that was both dull and sharp at the same time – but he didn’t want to give Phichit more ammunition so he let it pass.

‘I’m really sorry, Yuuri. And I still think that such a practice would be a great idea! Let me talk to Celestino’.

‘It’s gonna be useless’, Yuuri argued. ‘It’s not like I can fight without a good leg’.

‘Bullshit’, Phichit said, incredulously. ‘Voldemort fought without a _nose_ ’.

‘Yeah’, Yuuri agreed. ‘But not against Nikiforov’.

***

To be fair, Yuuri didn’t want to return to practising at all. The last lost duel left a sour aftertaste in his mind; he could not recall it without flinching. After coming back from Sochi he barricaded himself in the tiny dorm space he shared with Phichit, only allowing Celestino to visit once and enduring checks-up with the school Healer with the kind of calm that bordered on lethargy.

It was a terrible way to end the duelling season. He’d let Japan down but his schoolmates still had welcomed him with open arms, gathering together to congratulate him when his Portkey hit the ground and Yuuri and Celestino found themselves back at Mahoutokoro. Celestino kept pushing Yuuri forward (“You deserve your five minutes of fame, Yuuri, go on”) while Yuuri could only think about _bed_ , _hurts_ and _nope._

When he finally got to see their school Healer, he was ordered bed rest and banned from practice. Yuuri felt an eerie kind of relief. Duelling had always been a refuge from everyday life; now he needed the everyday life so he could escape from duelling. Preferably if this everyday life could stay limited to the four walls of their cramped dorm.

And so Yuuri stayed in bed, not putting any pressure on the knee as ordered, reapplying Freezing Charms every few hours, and sneaking in the Calming Draught when Phichit was taking a shower and couldn’t stop him. Yuuri promptly banished the empty phial; he had cut down on the Painkiller Potion to drink this. He could live with the pain in his leg; he could not function with the pain in his mind. Instead, he welcomed the warm calmness than for the few precious moments enveloped him like a blanket; when it got replaced by the sense of peace, Yuuri sighed with the relief. The gnawing feeling in his gut was over.

He did not want to think for how long.

***

Celestino visited on the third day, looking decidedly out of place next to Phichit’s messy desk and Yuuri’s collectable Seeker figurines. Phichit had to frantically hide the illegal hamsters the moment they heard their Duelling Master knocking; finally, he smuggled them outside in the pockets of his school robe, pretending he was just heading to the library when Celestino came in. Yuuri didn’t know where his friends had gone but he could bet the library was the last place to look for him.

‘Yuuri’, Celestino said. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine, thanks’, Yuuri replied automatically, like he’d been taught from his very first English lessons. Celestino, for all his prowess as a renowned Duelling Master and a formidable wizard in his right, could not speak a word of Japanese.

Celestino glanced meaningfully as Yuuri’s injured legs and shook his head.

‘Don’t pretend you’re American now, Yuuri’, he said. ‘Answer me truthfully. You’re in Japan, not in Michigan’.

Celestino’s former training facility was in Detroit; he would bring it up at every possibility.

‘The swelling’s better’, Yuuri reported dutifully. ‘But it still hurts so I’ve been trying not to move too much’.

‘Good, good’, Celestino said. ‘At least there’s some improvement. Healer Sasaki told me you were quite lucky that it’s not broken’.

 _Lucky indeed._ Yuuri wondered if wizards had ever heard about such an abstract concept like medical privacy.

‘She told me the same thing’, Yuuri just said because he was too tired to pick up w fight with his Duelling Master.

‘You’ve gained a sort of notoriety, you know’, Celestino said idly. ‘You get the bronze, come back valiant and injured, and then disappear and nobody has seen you for days’.

 _Yeah,_ Yuuri thought. _Everybody wanted to see the failure._

‘What I’m trying to say is’, Celestino continued when Yuuri didn’t reply, ‘don’t let the fame go to your head. But have some fun too. You’ve been working a lot’.

‘I haven’t been working a lot’, Yuuri said, because it was true and there was no point lying to Celestino.

‘Enough’, the man stressed, though. Yuuri didn’t know if he was referring to Yuuri’s training or just wanted to end the conversation.

‘Now’, Celestino reached into the pocket of his robe, ‘I’ve brought you some books. Check if there are any spells you like but for the love of Merlin don’t practice them here. Especially not with Phichit’.

Yuuri winced and nodded. He still remembered the last time they’d decided to practice duelling in their dorm and a spell gone awry transfigured the whole floor into lava. Yuuri still wondered what Phichit wanted to accomplish with that one.

Celestino handed the textbooks to Yuuri – two thick volumes of _Advanced Spellcasting for Duellists_ and _Game-Changing Hexes –_ and looked at Yuuri contemplatively.

‘Let me be honest with you, Yuuri’, he finally said. ‘You’ve exceeded my own expectations. Your first Grand Prix and you’ve already medalled. I couldn’t be prouder of you’.

Yuuri listened, making an effort to keep his face blank. He knew what Celestino was really trying to say – you could have done better, it’s just a bronze, why did you have to go and injure your leg – but if Celestino wanted to be nice about it, then, well, Yuuri couldn’t stop him, even though it hurt more than the bluntest truth.

‘I don’t think the training I’ve been planning is suitable for you now’, Celestino went on. There was a mirth in his eyes, as if he was mocking Yuuri’s defeat. Yuuri had to fight to keep his face carefully schooled.

‘When you get back to your practice, we’re gonna introduce some serious changes to maximise your potential this upcoming season. I think it’s gonna do you good’.

Yuuri did his best not to let it show – the last thing he needed was Cialdini’s kind-hearted face full of pity – but inside, he felt suddenly a little bit colder. He knew he wasn’t good; probably never realized it better than him. But to hear it from his instructor, someone whose opinion and judgment Yuuri valued – this was something else, something worse. And yet he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. At least there was one other person who could see what a fraud Yuuri was. At least Celestino could see through Yuuri.

‘Okay’, Yuuri said then. ‘Thanks, Master Cialdini’.

‘It’s Celestino’, the man said gruffly. ‘Well, I’ll be going. Take care of yourself, Yuuri’.

Yuuri only dropped the mask when Cialdini had left.

***

Mahoutokoro was a small school. It was only fitting since Minami Iwo Jima was a small island. Yuuri and Phichit, taking the example from numerous other students, would often chase each other around it on broomsticks, and it took only take a few minutes to circle the island if you were daring enough, and Yuuri was. With the amount of time needed to practice duelling, he never got into Quidditch, but flying was a different matter. It gave the same contradictory feeling of freedom and focus that duelling did, with the added benefit that nobody was there to judge his flying. It was only Yuuri, the broom, and the island.

Yuuri actually didn’t think much of the island; it was only a volcanic mountain, without lakes or forests of any kind, only with the school on top of it. The ocean interested him more, vast and mysterious as it was, and so indifferent. In moments of crippling anxiety, Yuuri always wanted to be the ocean.

The only noteworthy thing about the island was the school itself. With its ornate defensive features and jade walls, it made a great sight against the raw rocks of the island. The castle reminded Yuuri a bit about the one in Hasetsu, although he was indescribably more fond of Mahoutokoro. Magic happened there.

Phichit, predictably, preferred the island itself most of all.

‘It’s an _active volcano,_ Yuuri’, he’d gush. ‘How cool is that?’.

***

It turned out Katsuki Toshiya didn’t share Phichit’s enthusiasm. Transported to Mahoutokoro by a Portkey, courtesy of the school’s headmistress who believed Muggle parents had the same right to see their child’s graduation as magical ones, he looked definitely unimpressed.

‘A volcano! It’s a health hazard’, was all he said.

Yuuri, his mother, and his sister wordlessly decided not to mention that he’d known about the volcano for years and only began getting worried now, that he finally visited the island.

‘Don’t worry, dad’, Mari said dryly. ‘It’s charmed to erupt only in case of great danger’.

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether she was being her usual sarcastic self because it was simply her default feature, or whether she was working extra hard to annoy their dad because he’d missed her own graduation a couple of years earlier.

Around them, families were reuniting; Yuuri saw his classmates greeting and being greeted, hugging and being hugged. He himself stood calmly in his golden robes; the whole day he’d been rather indifferent.

There was something eerie about graduation. Yuuri thought it should feel special, as if he was finishing one book in a favourite series and starting another. His mother had made her own graduation from Mahoutokoro sound as if it had been one of the defining moments of her life. Yuuri, though, only felt he was hungry.

He overslept in the morning and missed his breakfast since getting ready with his leg still useless took more time than usual. His slow, awkward wobble from the dorms to the hall where the graduation was held took three times as long as he’d hoped it would. It was such a pity he wasn’t even allowed on a broomstick. Maybe flying would make it easier to move.

‘It’s been too long since I was here’, Katsuki Hiroko sighed fondly. ‘You can just feel magic vibrating here”.

“Are you sure it’s not the volcano erupting?’, Toshiya asked.

Yuuri sighed.

‘Dad’, he said. ‘You’re safe here. Now let’s go and sit, okay? I need to join my classmates’.

‘Just be careful’, Hiroko replied. ‘Do you need me to cast a Cooling Charm on your knee?’.

Yuuri shook his head.

‘Thanks, I’ll manage. See you later!’.

***

Yuuri had sometimes read about it in novels or newspapers, but always thought it was just a figure of speech. He never expected to say that he, too, had a memory so blurred that it was hard to recall what had really happened. But that was how exactly how he felt about his own graduation.

The facts were as follows: once he’d left his family, he joined his classmates and sat with them through the duration of the ceremony. A school anthem was sung; Yuuri remembered standing up for that, raising his wand proudly to shoot golden sparks, and singing along. The headmistress must have been talking; Yuuri recalled how she stood in front of them, stoic and powerful in her ceremonial garments. Twice he had to join her; he remembered wobbling once and then one time more, first with the rest of his classmates as their diplomas were given to them; and later alone, to receive a special award for outstanding students. This occasion he remembered vividly – there was something surreal about it that he, Katsuki Yuuri, would graduate with honours when there were so many students that deserved it much more.

‘Thank you’, said his lips then. _Fake_ , screamed his mind.

And then, there were more speeches. Prominent alumni visited to speak about their own experiences and there were no duellists among them. Younger students gave a performance; Yuuri recalled how Phichit starred in it, brilliant in his element, and charmed the audience with no spells. And then there was the headmistress again, waking up the castle with the most ancient magic so for the last time Mahoutokoro would wish them well.

But that was it. He knew he must have said goodbye somehow. Perhaps his friends had been crying, but he did not remember whether there had been tears on his cheeks. He knew he must have felt something, but either his emotions were elusive like the memory itself, or he’d remained indifferent and dormant like the volcano he’d seen for so many years. There was only one thought ringing in Yuuri’s head clear like a bell, strong like a spell:

_Duelling is now all I have._

_***_

It was over, just like that. Yuuri hugged Phichit – he knew they would see each other during practice anyway, but it was not going to be the same – posed indulgently as Phichit insisted on taking pictures so he could charm them so they’d move later – and before he knew it, he had to shrink his suitcases and fit them into his pockets, and soon he grabbed a Portkey only to find himself whisked away back to Hasetsu.

‘So, home again’, Toshiya said happily the moment they landed, Yuuri still wobbling on his legs. ‘I can’t say I’m not glad we’re not living on a volcano’.

Yuuri knew his dad was going to repeat this sentence at every opportunity for the next few months.

‘Hot springs are way cooler’, Mari agreed to appease him. She seemed bored, but it was her default state; for as long as Yuuri could remember, his sister always lost her interest easily. She lit her cigarette with her wand, a move practiced and casual like everything she did.

‘We’ve got something for you, little brother’, she said with a crooked smile.

Their mother disappeared, chatting excitedly, and soon enough came back carrying something in her arms. Yuuri suddenly felt a bit unsteady.

It was a puppy. A toy puddle, brown like dark chocolate and excited in a sleepy, clumsy way like only puppies could be. He held it tentatively as black button eyes blinked at him, and then he knew – they were going to be best friends.

‘Welcome home, Yuuri’, his mother said. ‘We’re proud of you’.

***

It felt easy to fall into a routine. Hasetsu was a town which lived in a circular motion, in a neverending cycle, close to nature and close to magic. It hadn’t been long before Yuuri began shaping a cycle of his own: waking up early and longing for a run which he couldn’t take, slowly exercising his leg, walking the puppy, reading up on spells like Celestino had ordered and helping out with household charms at the onsen.

His mother was glad for his presence. Yuuri’s parents had long divided onsen workload among each other, with Hiroko taking care of the unplottable wizard part and his father taking care of their Muggle visitors. Mari would help here and there, as needed, blending between the two. Yuuri could be useless on the platform nowadays, but his household spells were acceptable, and easing the workload during tourist season was a godsend.

It hurt though, to switch the swish of Stunners for the clutter of Reparos. Yuuri itched, his mind as used to the Calming Draught as it was used to the adrenaline and the movement; Hasetsu was calm but also stale, like a lake, with no movements, no currents. Something was calling out to Yuuri and he knew it well: the thrill of competitions, the sturdy wood under his feet as he jumped and ducked and feinted. He grew restless, as if ants were travelling in his veins.

At least his leg improved, although slower than he’d like. He no longer had to rely on Stabilizing Spells or crutches as he walked, and while his favourite agility training was still out of the question,  Yuuri began to incorporate part of his usual practice into his day again.

 _Maybe,_ Yuuri thought, _the itchiness would stop._

***

‘We listened to the Wireless’, Yuuko said instead of greeting. ‘You were brilliant, Yuuri. A medal at your first Final!’.

 _A failure at my only Final,_ Yuuri wanted to say, but something stopped him. He knew Yuuko would disagree, and arguing was not why he met her.

‘Who would have thought we’d be friends with a celebrity, now’, Takeshi added.

Yuuko and Takeshi were married now, a few years out of Mahoutokoro and happily settled down running a small magical shop in Hasetsu. Their triplets, overenthusiastic and intense in a way only children can be, were thankfully nowhere in sight.

 _Celebrity my ass_ , Yuuri thought. _Nikiforov didn’t even know my name._

‘I need your help’, Yuuri confessed instead.

Both Yuuko and Takeshi used to practice duelling with Yuuri back before Celestino took him under his wing. They had never gone professional, but their love for the sport still showed. Yuuko, much better at Charms than her husband, had expanded the backroom of their shop into a simple duelling area, with a full-sized platform surrounded by protective spells they would reapply every week. Yuuri found himself there now, standing against a familiar dummy.

‘I’m gonna lock your magical signature into the wards’, Yuuko assured him kindly. ‘So you don’t need to ask us to let you in whenever you want to practice. Just come and go as you please’. With that, she turned to leave, adding on her way you, ‘It’s good to have you back’.

‘What are you gonna practice?’, Takeshi said, lingering as Yuuri took position in front of the dummy.

‘Limb Binding Spell’, Yuuri said. It was the first from the list he’d made based on the new coursebooks. ‘ _Brachiabindo_!’

***

There is a comfort to be found in habits.

Yuuri rose and fell in cycles. There were good days – no, he could be honest with himself: there were good hours, at times only moments. He immersed himself in spell practice with the determination that was set deeply into his bones, merged together through sheer repetition and the most human of magics, tenacity. Those times, he didn’t even feel the burn of self-disgust anymore – he was nothing, just an extension of his spell, there was nobody in his shell of a body that could feel his disgrace. Those were the times Yuuri rose.

And then there were the bad days. Here, too, Yuuri could be honest with himself – these dragged like the kind of cold in winter that first bothers you but later you get used to it because there is no other choice; somehow, in the periphery of your awareness, you know it still is there, but you don’t even feel the need to acknowledge. Yuuri would still practice, but it felt like balancing on a knife-edge. There was no choice but to bleed raw.

Yuuri had two kinds of bad days. The first made him feel like he was a lump of leftover coffee dregs in a cold, forgotten cup – useless, worthless, exhausted. Yuuri always hated coffee. The second were ever-changing and deceptive, and Yuuri wouldn’t know how to compare them to anything. They were the days when thoughts besieged his mind; Yuuri sometimes wished he knew how to Occlude, only the other way round, when the attack came not from another wizard but from within his own perfidious mind. These days, he drank the Calming Draught like he drank coffee: with a taste of self-hate but unfathomable relief that this, at least, would start working.

Yuuri was a wizard of habit. He lived in cycles. He was on the rise now, spells hurling, magic electrifying the air, even as he stood still, favouring one leg. The dummy, satisfyingly, was in pieces.

‘You’ve got the hang of it pretty quickly’, Yuuko observed with a smile. Before Yuuri could do it, she cast a silent Reparo at the dummy.

‘I don’t really have anything else to do’, Yuuri shrugged. He could sit in his room, listlessly, but this he had been doing anyway.

‘I’m sure you can go back to regular practice soon’, Yuuko encouraged. She looked a bit tired, Yuuri noticed. Absently he wondered what it was like, to raise three children and run a business at the same time. Maybe their meetings during his practice in the Nishigoris’ backroom were as much an escape for him as they were for her.

‘I’m going to the Healer later today’, Yuuri said. He was dreading the visit – he could see his leg was doing better, but the self-doubt planted in his mind told him that no, he was not going to be cleared for practice, not today, not in a week, maybe not ever – because really, what was the point of duelling if he was too inept for it in the first place?

‘I’d offer you some company’, replied Yuuko, ‘but I’m not brave enough to live the girls alone with Nishigori for the afternoon. Last time I did that, they had somehow grown tails and horns and Takeshi swears he doesn’t know how it happened. We couldn’t find a countercurse and it took three days for the charm to fade’.

Yuuri shook his head, amused.

‘They look up to you, you know’, Yuuko said suddenly. ‘I found them playing Uncle Yuuri yesterday’.

‘They could find better role models’.

Yuuko flashed a smile at him – a small, crooked thing that held too many emotions for Yuuri to glimpse them all.

‘They’ve found the best one’.

***

In the end it was Celestino who accompanied Yuuri to the Healer, not Yuuko. His presence was obvious and unquestioned, and Yuuri didn’t even consider walking into the office alone. He still visited his old school Healer; she knew Yuuri’s long medical history and before his graduation, Yuuri and Celestino both decided to continue working with her once he moved out of Mahoutokoro.

‘The Diagnostic Spell didn’t show any irregularities’, Healer Sasaki told them now, her voice brisk but kind. Yuuri appreciated her attitude. She never coddled or offered pity. ‘You’re free to return to your training, but I’d prefer it if you refrained from anything too strenuous for now. Give it a week and then introduce more rigorous routines gradually’, she advised.

Yuuri thought that it seemed he wouldn’t escape duelling as the unmovable opponent after all. Phichit was going to be ecstatic.

‘Now, tell me’, Healer Sasaki continued. Her eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s. ‘How are you, other than the leg? Is everything all right’.

Yuuri nodded his head, mutely.

‘Fine’, he confirmed. ‘Everything’s just fine’.

***

‘It’s been too long since I had a chance to beat you’, Phichit decided cheekily. ‘Do you think I should cast a Sticking Charm at your shoes? You know, so you don’t _move’._

‘Shut up’, Yuuri said.

Their practice room felt familiar, but the routine did not. Although Yuuri had practised duelling with limited mobility before (it’s not like accidents never happened and one had to be prepared), it was never his preferred style. Phichit, the bulb of energy that he was, also was more fond of moving around, and so their usual sparring time involved a lot of movement. And now Yuuri had to stay still like a statue – not out of preference but out of necessity. Even the feeling of being on the platform again did not feel as exhilarating as it always had.  Standing still was just another tangible reminder of his failure.

‘Hey, Phichit’, Yuuri started. ‘I need your help with something’.

‘Boys’, Celestino interrupted. He was a kind Duelling Master; Yuuri always got on well with him and his laid-back attitude. But Celestino, too, seemed today as strict about Yuuri as Yuuri was about himself. Phichit just nodded at Yuuri to signal they would talk later. They both turned to Cialdini, who seemed to be in no mood to deal with their chattering.

‘Cast that again, Phichit, and make it stronger this time. Yuuri, your Shield should cover your sides, too, work to make it wider’

Yuuri nodded. He’d been working on adaptable Shields with Nishigori. They’d found advanced variations of standard protective spells in one of the books lent by Celestino. Yuuri could see their advantages, but the focus on defence awoke the memories of Sochi.

‘ _Protego Pandiculor_ ’, Yuuri intoned carefully, bracing himself against the impact of Phichit’s attack. He still couldn’t cast the spell silently, complex as it was, but this time, he felt the fabric of the charm stretch around him and cover his sides as he poured his magic into it. Phichit’s spells hit the shield with a shake, one by one, and got smoothly absorbed by the steady charm.

‘Great, Yuuri, you’ve got it’, Celestino praised. ‘One more time to be sure. Phichit, your wrist movement is too sharp, try again’.

Yuuri brought the shield up one more time, anticipating his friend’s attack again. Phichit’s spell was stronger now, his wrist movement surer, but the shield still took in the impact.

‘Good. Phichit, you stay here, I want to see how you fare with this against me when I move. Yuuri, go practice the shield silently, I’ll test you once I’m done here and you’ll duel me then’, Celestino ordered. Yuuri obediently stepped down and wandered off to the side of the room, trying to clear his head enough so that he’d have the focus needed for silent casting.

 _Concentrate,_ he thought to himself. He couldn’t tune down Phichit’s footsteps on the platform, an audible admonition of his own incompetence. He knew that had he secured a win without an injury, it would be him against Phichit now, not Celestino. _Concentrate,_ he thought.

Yuuri forced himself to list all the benefits of the spell: its advantageous scope, its ability to absorb curses, its comforting, steady aid. He took a deep breath, _concentrate,_ and another, raising his cherry wand, _concentrate,_ he ordered himself one more time. _Protego Pandiculor!_

_***_

Yuuri’s daily routine soon changed to incorporate more and more elements. Celestino still made him study the textbooks, but he also included a lot of duelling instruction. In the meantime, Yuuri gradually returned to his old agility training. Stretching felt painful; his body had got stiff and tense. Celestino took one look at him and sent Yuuri off to practice with his former ballet teacher, Minako.

Minako judged his flexibility to be close to nonexistent, screamed a lot and sent a Howler to Celestino for neglecting her student’s talent and letting him grow complacent.

‘You could have been a danseur’, she said. ‘And now you’re as stiff as a board.  Show me that _plié,_ again’.

But Yuuri’s muscles appeared to be as unrelenting as his mind. He practised the spells with the cold determination that seemed to impress Cialdini, but to Yuuri it meant sleepless nights as he tossed in his bed, listing down his own shortcomings. It took him a long process of self-reflection before Yuuri could admit to himself that he wasn’t ready to face the same kind of disastrous failure he had and that his drive to do better came as much from his self-preservation as from his shame.

Yuuri felt he’d let himself go. His body was in no shape to participate in a competition at the level he was used to; a knee was only a part of it – lack of regular exercise made him slow, sloppy, slothful. His reactions were not as quick as they should, and Yuuri was quietly glad for the need to withdraw from some of the competitions. The knee injury was a convenient excuse to have, even though he did notice the irony as the accident had been the original cause of his withdrawal.

Back in Sochi, Yuuri thought he could not have fallen any lower, but his post-injury condition proved that yes, he could and he would. And Yuuri, despite his mass of disquiet, recognized one thing for certain: he could either return to duelling sharper and stronger, or he would fall again, never to get up.

And then, there was Nikiforov.

There was something almost degrading in the way he had brushed Yuuri off at the Final – as if Yuri had been a speck of dust and not a person who burnt and ached. Nikiforov hadn’t hit Yuuri with any spell that would leave lasting damage, but it was all the same. Yuuri had been singed.

Long after the dull pain in his knee had faded, Yuuri’s pride still hurt. And Yuuri was not stupid; he knew full well that of all the people, he was not in danger of hubris.

But Nikiforov was. With all his swishing spells and unorthodox movements, he was the reigning champion of duelling at international competitions. Harry Potter had moved on, not participating anymore; with him gone, Nikiforov remained higher than all of them, the ever-burning star. And Yuuri knew how it would go in novels; he knew how it would go in films. It’s always the underdog that knocked the hero off the pedestal.

 _Yeah_ , Yuuri thought. _It’ll show him_.

***

‘Here’, Phichit handed him a thick envelope one week later. They stayed after practice, duelling for fun. Phichit’s hair was bright yellow and he didn’t seem to be keen to change it back to black. ‘I’ve got what you wanted’.

Yuuri took the envelope silently, abjectly. Once Celestino called it a day and left them alone in the duelling chamber, warning against doing anything idiotic, Yuuri immersed himself in carefree spell casting. It was freeing; but now all he could think of was the Portkey home, ready to be activated in ten minutes. Phichit seemed to sense it.

‘Don’t get me wrong’, he spoke. With any other person, Yuuri would call his tone hesitant. But it was Phichit, who took the world by storm, so Yuuri opted for “gentle”. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a great idea, Yuuri’.

There was a but here, somewhere, and Yuuri knew this was the moment he was going to hear it.

‘But do you think it’s a good idea _now_?’

There was a distinct emphasis on the last word, and Yuuri heard it well. Phichit didn’t have to explain what he meant – he and Yuuri had hit it off long before Phichit’s English – or Japanese – ever as much as began to resemble fluency. Yuuri still remembered how they first met; it was his third year at Mahoutokoro, and he was assigned to be a tutor to one of the new foreign students. Shaken with nerves and afraid of responsibility, Yuuri expected someone like him – quiet, shy, unsure. Phichit surprised him with his easy adaptability. It took them all of three days to figure out that it was Yuuri, not him, who would rather need help to overcome his social anxiety. Yuuri tutored Phichit in spells and originally walked him from classroom to classroom or taught how to fly, but Phichit – Phichit tutored Yuuri in people.

He was doing it now, sensing Yuuri’s fears before Yuuri even confronted them himself. Phichit had always done it – not only would he draw Yuuri out of his shell once in a while, but also help Yuuri face his own mind.

‘It’s not a good idea’, Yuuri said bluntly, surprising even himself. ‘But it’s... Phi, there’s no other choice. What do you want me to do, be like this? Or maybe ignore all of it?’

‘I want you to do what feels right’, Phichit said. He had his serious voice on, and that only happened when he was concerned. Yuuri suddenly felt bad for making his friend worry, again. The envelope felt heavy in his hand. ‘So that _you_ feel alright. Got it?’

‘Yeah’, Yuuri said. He didn’t get it and they both knew it.

***

Later that evening, Yuuri put the envelope on his desk and went for a relaxing soak in the onsen. At that hour, it was almost empty, with only Yuuri and one aged wizard who always came in just before the onsen’s closing hours. Yuuri did his best to postpone the moment of opening the envelope, even though he had been waiting for it for so many days; but there was a pressure he could feel in his tensed muscles that not even the onsen could alleviate. He closed his eyes, breathing in the heat of the humid air. When it didn’t help, he cast a Drying Spell over himself and returned to his room, sitting cross-legged on his bed with the puppy on his lap and opening the envelope only with the slightest hesitation.

Phichit had really outdone himself this time.

Inside the envelope were newspaper cut-outs, some old, with pages yellowed as if stained with tea, some more recent – Yuuri spotted one with the date from two days earlier. And all of them had in common Viktor Nikiforov. The headlines showed his name boldly, just like he was bold on the platform, and Yuuri took one glance at them before becoming overwhelmed.

_RUSSIAN CHAMPION TAKES GOLD_

_NIKIFOROV PUTS ON A SHOW IN ROVANIEMI_

_RUSSIAN DARLING CHARMS ALL WITCHES_

_RUSSIAN DUELLIST’S PROMISING DEBUT_

_IS VIKTOR NIKIFOROV THE NEXT HARRY POTTER?_

The last one made Yuuri stop. He looked up, and here there was, Harry Potter’s signed poster above his desk, throwing down at Yuuri something between a smile and a smirk. The poster was old and had a hole in the spot where it had been hit by Mari’s rogue spell, and overall Potter looked rather embarrassed to be caught posing. But now he waved at Yuuri somewhat friendly, and Yuuri snorted, looking back at the headline.

_The next Potter. As if._

Yuuri sorted the clippings neatly with a short flick of his wand. He grabbed the first paper and propped his pillows up so that he could read comfortably. But instead of the text, he focused on the picture: moving in a never-ending loop, Nikiforov was twirling on the platform, avoiding a spell with deathly kind of grace. In another, he was winking with an irresistible kind of charm. And there was the newest photo from Sochi, perfectly captured the moment which changed Nikiforov’s last duel, the ingenious use of his Protego to push and attack Otabek Altin.

‘ _Lumos_ ’, murmured Yuuri, letting the soft light coming from his wand envelope the room. He kept reading and he kept watching, and soon hundreds of Nikiforovs began to pivot around him, to wink and smirk and mock. Yuuri gazed at the photographs with an eerie sense of wonder; there was something inexplicable about his emotions that night, something that went beyond words, breaking the limits of his vocabulary, challenging the notions of his mind. The light of his wand was as pale white as Nikiforov’s silver hair. Before long, Yuuri’s vision blurred, the letters becoming hazy, the pictures vague, and the faint light blended with the silver of the silhouettes. There was nothing but elusive glow and the indefinable.

Yuuri didn’t sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up procrastinating like five other things I should be writing instead, but the chapter is ready early so that's not entirely bad I guess? So now it's time to post this and then go back to weeping about deadlines.  
> I don't have a beta because I don't have any friends I would hate enough to torture them with this fic so all mistakes are entirely my fault.  
> Also, I have a [tumblr](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/) if you're into this kind of thing.  
> Let me know what you think! Things are getting more exciting next chapter (although I'm not sure if less angsty).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is finally up! 
> 
> Thank you [ SHSLshortie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie) for betaing this chapter!

 

‘What are you doing?’, Yuuri asked. His Portkey, which took him to their old duelling room at Mahoutokoro like every other morning, threw him inelegantly in front of Phichit.

‘I’m meditating’, Phichit answered with a snort. ‘Can’t you tell?’.

‘I can’t, actually’, Yuuri said. Phichit was sprawled on the duelling platform in a stretch that wasn’t executed with proper care, Yuuri was fairly sure of that. ‘If you want to tap into your magic core, pulling your muscles may not be the way to go’.

‘I’m living on the edge’, Phichit retorted.

Yuuri walked past him and towards a mannequin in the corner of the chamber, preparing to cast a series of jinxes he’d been practising for his next competition. Celestino’s books turned out to offer a great deal of useful information. Yuuri appreciated the reading, but he was itching for a more active approach. He muttered the incantation and watched as the mannequin erupted into a blast.

‘Smooth, but don’t show off, Celestino is late anyway’, Phichit called out from the platform. ‘What is this hex anyway? Will you teach me?’.

‘It’s the Cascading Jinx’, Yuuri replied.

‘It looks dangerous’, Phichit said. ‘You need to teach me’.

Yuuri cast a Reparo.

‘It’s for multiple opponents’, he said. ‘I’m just learning it because I’m bored. Where would you find with more than one duellist anyway?’.

‘In Wizarding Britain’, a voice called. ‘Whenever it’s infested with Death Eaters. It seems to be a recurring event’.

Yuuri turned around only to see Phichit frantically pulling himself up from whatever position he was on the platform. The man who entered the room paused at the door; Yuuri could spot Celestino a few steps behind the stranger.

Only it was not a stranger at all. The man standing in front of them was none other than Harry Potter.

‘Hello, Yuuri’, Harry Potter said. ‘And you must be Phichit’.

‘Oh my God’, Phichit replied excitedly. ‘Oh my fucking God. Can I have a photo?’.

Yuuri wanted to die.

‘Sure’, Potter said. ‘But maybe later. Celestino has some things he wants to tell you, and, uhm, I think we will be seeing each other a lot’.

That was not what Yuuri expected.

To be fair: it’s not as if he expected Potter to walk into their duelling room at all. But he had met the man before – talked to him even – and Potter was as kind as he was modest, so it was almost possible to forget about this all hero of Wizarding Britain thing for a moment. Yuuri wouldn’t say it was exactly easy to exist in the general vicinity of the man, but he could reliably say that it was doable. People usually only died in front of Potter when they were evil.

Celestino had in fact trained with Potter. It was not unusual for them to visit each other or make occasional Firecalls. As much as Yuuri idolized the British wizard, he had had some time to get used to the idea that Potter would sometimes show up unexpectedly to visit Celestino’s, oblivious to the time difference, just to complain about random topics Yuuri had little knowledge about. Phichit, however, had not been with Celestino for as long as Yuuri and had yet to learn that it was possible to humanize your idol.

Yuuri suspected this would happen once Phichit got the picture.

‘It’s good to see you again, Yuuri’, Potter remarked. Yuuri bowed back, politely; it was one thing to know that one of the best duellists in history was an okay human being; it was another to remember it all the time.

‘You too, Master Duellist Potter’.

Celestino chuckled in the background. Yuuri could swear that Potter rolled his eyes exactly the same way Yuuri would do at Phichit’s antics.

‘It’s Harry’, Potter stressed, with a hint of exhaustion. ‘Just Harry’.

Celestino stepped forward and conjured up four comfortable chairs.

‘Sit down, boys’, he invited, taking a place himself. ‘And, Potter, don’t pretend like you’re so well-behaved’.

Potter didn’t seem to take offence. Whereas Yuuri sat down stiffly and Phichit looked as if he was about to burst with excitement, Potter flopped down without care and soon was sprawled across the chair like a lazy cat. The man’s posture clashed with his visibly expensive set of robes.

‘I thought you wanted to make a good impression’, Celestino grumbled. ‘The Weasley’s have rubbed off on you’.

‘Sorry?’, Potter offered a bit sheepishly. On Yuuri’s right, Phichit let out something that sounded like a squeal. ‘I did dress up’.

‘No’, Celestino said. ‘Granger dressed you up — and now I’m going to have to write her and complain about you until she shows up herself and makes you stop behaving like one of my students. Rather than their new instructor’.

‘Sorry’, Potter said again. ‘I didn’t want to scare anybody off, you see, and Ron said...’

But Yuuri tuned the man out. Next to him, Phichit exhibited something dangerously close to spontaneous combustion, but Yuuri didn’t care. Instructor, Celestino said, and that could only mean...

‘Yuuri, Harry is going to oversee your training from now on. You’re still going to have practice sessions with me and duels with Phichit, but Harry will be responsible for the major aspects of your training for the rest of the season’, Celestino said. ‘When I told you that I had to change your workout regime, I didn’t expect that Harry would actually agree to my plan. But he did — and now we can all make use of it’.

‘I’m very excited to be working with you, Yuuri’, Potter said. He seemed sincere; there was something in the man’s expression that made Yuuri think he had to be a terrible liar. ‘And you too, Phichit. Celestino is still your main trainer, but we’re going to meet up from time to time to make things... more exciting’.

Phichit started asking questions, but Yuuri just sat quietly, dumbfounded. Whatever he’d expected walking into the duelling chamber this morning,  it wasn’t his life-long idol offering to _coach_ him. Not him, a mediocre duellist who ran on the Calming Draught like fuel; not him, who couldn’t even win a competition with a twisted knee. Yuuri knew that Potter had fought and won with more severe injuries in the past. What did he expect to gain from training a failure of a wizard, half a world away from home? Whatever it was, Yuuri could bet that he would never meet his expectations; and he could bet he would never even be able to afford the fees.

_The fees._

‘How... the payment?’, he said and immediately regretted it. Trust him to show Harry Potter that his future student couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

‘Oh,  just sort it out with Celestino what you’re paying him for is the consultation, and it will probably be less since he’s not your main trainer? I don’t know how these things work, to be honest’, Potter said flippantly. ‘I have money, and I don’t need anymore. What I expect, Yuuri, is a challenge’.

He said it with a strange tone in his voice; it was almost like a promise. Yuuri could feel his hand clench. So that was what it was — a challenge. Celestino’s words from before came back, a memory as haunting as it was bitter — _I don’t think your training is_ _adequate anymore_ _,_ _so,_ _we’re gonna introduce changes’,_ and they sounded like a chant to the rhythm of his heart and the pressure in his head, _you’re a failure,  a failure,  a failure._

Of course, he’d be a challenge. Celestino must have complained about Yuuri’s loss at the Final, and Potter had offered to help his old friend because he had more experience, and Celestino was out of depth. Yuuri was — from the very beginning — a lost case.

Yuuri was no idiot. Potter could have chosen anyone, he was that famous and that good. His decision to help Yuuri had to have everything to do with Celestino and nothing with Yuuri himself. Why would he pick Yuuri, who once forgot in the middle of a competition, how to cast a Stunner and couldn't even make it to semi-finals because his nerves got better of him.

But he wouldn’t look a gift Hippogriff in a mouth.  If Harry Potter was really going to train him, Yuuri would gladly take everything he could, and give it everything he had.

***

Yuuri had watched Potter countless times in the Pensieve before, but it was never as intense as the real thing. He had almost forgotten what it was like to witness his power in person; next to Yuuri, Phichit was almost crying.

‘Can we really do something like this?’, he asked. Even though Yuuri had watched Potter duel live once before, he shrugged.

‘He can’, he said matter-of-factly.

On the platform, Potter was making a mess out of Celestino. Yuuri, who sometimes could get one up on him if the man had a hangover or was especially tired, couldn’t help but watch the display in awe. He had to force himself not to blink so he didn’t miss a thing.

It was obvious that Potter could have ended the duel minutes ago; the sheer force of his spells was enough to knock Celestino down twice already. He had this kind of instinctual grasp of his magic that Yuuri could only achieve after hours of meditation; only with Potter, it was his natural state. His spells shone bright and strong, his shields stood steadfast, and he countered Celestino’s attacks with an ease that spoke volumes.

Yuuri could almost hear his magic sing.

He could see, now, certain similarities in Celestino’s and Potter’s styles – both relied heavily on charms. However, Potter was more fond of curses and Celestino often resorted to Transfiguration. While Celesitno’s approach was technical, text-book perfect and Yuuri could just _feel_ the man’s teacher tendencies taking over, Potter was pure instinct, luck,  and dare. It was only Celestino’s years of experience that helped him stay on his feet. Potter could laugh and roll with each curse, avoid spells with the lithe grace of a Seeker, and taunt with jinxes Yuuri had never even heard of before.

“Wow”, Phichit uttered in complete awe.

Then, Potter opened himself for a moment — no shields and no spells — and Celestino hurled a curse after curse, but Potter swished his wand and countered them all at the last moment.

‘Come on!’ he taunted. ‘You used to be faster than that!’.

How could he speak and cast at the same time, Yuuri couldn't even fathom. His own concentration always broke the second he spoke something other than the spell. But Potter seemed in his element, and every movement contained such ease and fluidity.

Well, if you have duelled Voldemort, Yuuri guessed that Celestino could barely even be considered competition.

That was the thing — of all the duellists Yuuri had ever watched, Potter was the only one who had fought for his life before he fought for his medals. His instincts didn't come from duelling platforms but from battlefields; his manoeuvres worked because he was prepared to do _anything_ , anything at all, to finish the duel standing. Live or die, his magic screamed, it’s here and now, it’s now or never.

Celestino transfigured his outer robe into a wave of sand, pushing it straight at Potter’s head. Potter vanished it with a wordless spell, and swift as a blink moved forward and roared,

‘ _Expecto Patronum!_ ’

It was a deer. Yuuri had read it was always a deer, lean and formidable, with no shred of fear in its charmed heart. It charged at Celestino as if it had a will of its own — and maybe it did.

It's impossible to banish a Patronus. And so it pushed the man off the platform.  Celestino was so astonished he couldn't even think before he was defeated.

Potter didn’t look proud. There was something in his face, unguarded and exposed, that made Yuuri glance away.

‘Thanks, Prongs’, Potter said, and the Patronus slowly vanished.

The only thing Yuuri could think was: _I_ _want to duel like this._

***

Yuuri woke to the warm weight of a puppy on his stomach. The poodle was snoring softly. Squinting, Yuuri carefully reached out to grab his glasses without moving his body, so that Lumos wouldn’t stir. To Yuuri’s short-sighted eyes, the dog looked like a blurred brown ball. For a second, Yuuri considered staying in bed and just pretending it was still night. It was so peaceful; but he put his glasses on, and with the contours of the world returning to focus, also came the unrelenting reality of a bright morning.

Sighing, Yuuri moved Lumos carefully so that the puppy could enjoy the sleep Yuuri couldn't afford. He padded to the bathroom quietly, trying to brace himself for another day. The onsen was still quiet; Yuuri’s glance at a charmed clock on the wall told him it was only six in the morning. Mari probably wouldn’t be asleep, being the early riser she was, but Yuuri doubted he would see anybody else at this hour.

However, he did. Yuuri entered the kitchen still sleepy after his shower, expecting to find a full fridge and an empty room. But there he was, Harry Potter: a book in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

‘Hey, Yuuri’, he greeted simply. In a simple Muggle tee and sweatpants, red-eyed and bare-footed. He didn’t look like the hero he was always painted as, but Yuuri had already gotten used to it.

Potter had moved to Yutopia two weeks earlier, on the same day he announced his decision to coach Yuuri. Since then, he had been a silent yet thoughtful addition to their daily routine. He insisted on cleaning up after himself, which he would do always do manually instead of charming the dishes away like Yuuri’s mother always did. He got along with Mari surprisingly well; Potter warmed up quickly to her dry wit, and Mari in turn never treated him like a celebrity from a glossy magazine.

He was also quite the insomniac.

This was not something Yuuri had expected when he’d read the interviews and stories of the man. He never asked, but Potter seemed anxious to justify his quickly acquired habit of staying up until dawn or waking up before anybody else. ‘It’s scary to see Voldemort’s ugly, nose-less face’, he would say. What he didn’t say was more telling.

Yuuri poured himself orange juice and fixed a light breakfast while Potter was reading. For a moment, Yuuri’s charmed-knife cutting the vegetables and the rustle of pages were the only sounds.

‘You’re up early’, Potter then said.

‘Lumos woke me up. She’s still upstairs’.

Potter smirked, then a sudden grimace contorted his face. _He looks tired,_ Yuuri thought.

‘We’re going to work on that spell today’, he announced. ‘It’s a nice name for a dog’.

‘I can cast Lumos’, Yuuri said incredulously.

‘I know’, nodded Potter. ‘That’s why we’re gonna work on this’.

Training with Harry Potter was nothing like training with Celestino. Where Yuuri’s former instructor was focused, Potter was ever-changing. After a day spent on testing Yuuri’s range of spells, he construed a training regime that put Celestino’s to shame and Yuuri (almost) to tears.

‘You tell me if it’s too much’, Potter always said. Yuuri just nodded and always kept his mouth shut.

There were days when Potter would drill simple spells, Expelliarmuses and Wingardium Leviosas, with a look of intense concentration on his face. There were days he’d throw advanced spells at Yuuri like there was no tomorrow, and Yuuri could hardly keep up but _this, this what was he wanted_ , so he got up every time and fought back. It turned out Potter was the kind of a teacher who always gave praise freely, with a warm smile. Yuuri thought it suited him, even when the praise was not really deserved.

There were also days when Potter’s eyes were red-brimmed, his balance off, and muscles tense as if he’d been repeatedly hit by a Petrificus Totalus. Yuuri never said a thing, even when Potter ended their training sessions early and then would always ask Yuuri’s mother if he could borrow their fireplace for an international Floo call.

It seemed like one of these days today. Yuuri ignored it politely, like he’d ignored it a few times before because really, Potter made it obvious he wanted to keep himself to himself — and Yuuri didn’t know what to do or say either way. So, when he sat down to his breakfast and summoned a phial of Calming Draught, he expected Potter to just ignore him in turn.

‘Celestino said you’ve got a prescription’, the man spoke suddenly. His eyes were very green. ‘How is it working?’

‘Good’, Yuuri said, slightly startled by the sudden inquiry, and swallowed a bite of his breakfast because it gave him something to mask the rising uneasiness. ‘It... makes me calm’.

***

Two hours later, Yuuri wasn’t calm anymore.

Potter had made him run like he did every day, and then they walked together to the Nishigori’s backroom. Potter preferred their own training facility — as small as it was —he said it was more convenient to use, rather than to Portkey every day. Yuuri didn’t share the sentiment but didn’t dare protest. On weekends, Potter always Flooed back to England anyway and Yuuri would Portkey back and forth to Mahoutokoro for his sessions with Celestino and Phichit.

Yuuri had not anticipated that the moment he’d enter Takeshi’s shop, he’d find Yuuko arguing with a blond teenager in a leopard print robe.

‘You!’, the kid growled the moment he spotted Yuuri. Behind the counter, Yuuko huffed. ‘Katsuki! You’re gonna train me’.

It was the same kid who had accosted Yuuri in Sochi, hot-headed and scowling. Yuuri’s mind froze as if hit with a charm.

‘Me?’, he choked out. ‘What are you doing here?’

 _Who are you?,_ he wanted to add. Potter did it for him, entering behind Yuuri with a curious look in his face.

‘Oh’, the kid muttered, seeing him. He didn’t look phased to see a Wizarding celebrity in scruffy sweatpants. ‘You’re here. Okay. You’re gonna train me too’.

‘Last time I checked, I trained Katsuki Yuuri. You’re not him. And you won’t be telling me what to do. Who are you?’

‘His name is Yuri Plisetsky’, Yuuko answered when it became apparent that the kid was too busy fuming in silence.

‘One of Feltsman’s lot, aren’t you?’, Potter asked. He didn’t seem to expect an answer. Yuuri thought his eyes shone with slight amusement. ‘Well, Yuuri, what do you think? Are you ready to be a coach?’

 _I’m ready to crawl under a rock and cast a Notice-Me-Not_ , Yuuri thought.

***

In the end, Yuuko fed the kid home-made onigiri and interrogated him with the ease of a mother of three willful children. Potter stared amusedly from the corner of the backroom, content to let her do the talking (‘I’ve got enough of that after dealing with my godson, thanks’). Yuuri just sat, silently, wondering if there was a chance he could make a Portkey out of one of the trinkets from the shop and run away to Mahoutokoro. A volcano seemed a safer option than Yuri Plisetsky.

‘The old man is an idiot who won’t teach me’, the kid was saying, munching on the onigiri as angrily as he did everything else. Yuuri was surprised not to see the earth catching fire when the kid stomped. ‘And he’s not that good anyway, just lucky. Katsuki’s got less experience but he’s already on Viktor’s heels, and anyway’, the kid swallowed quickly, ‘the old man’s step sequences are shit. Katsuki’s are not’.

‘The old man?’, Yuuko questioned.

‘Nikiforov’, Yuri Plisetsky spat the name out like it was poison. Yuuri could only sympathize.

‘If he’s old, what does it make me?’, Potter asked dryly.

The kid – Plisetsky – rolled his eyes.

‘You’re Harry Potter. It doesn’t count how old you are’.

There was no logic to it, but Yuuri could see what the kid meant.

‘Thanks’, Potter said. ‘But I’m getting older any minute we’re talking, and neither you nor my student are getting the training you need. So, first, you’re going with me to Firecall your coach and you will tell him _exactly_ how you pulled off that international Portkey thing you’ve just done, which I’m sure is completely safe because no underage competitive duellist would think of _breaking the law_ like that’.

Potter stopped to catch a breath. Yuuko stopped to stare at Potter. Yuuri stopped to process what Potter said, and _holy shit_ how did the kid actually end up in Japan?

And Yuri – for a second, maybe less – looked fearful.

‘Okay’, he said. ‘Okay. If Yakov lets me stay, will you train me too?’

Yuuri stayed with Yuuko for a friendly warm-up duel while Potter took the kid away for the Firecall. If he thought there was something weird about hearing a lecture on law-breaking from a man who stole a magical heirloom from a bank and flew away on a dragon, he didn’t say a thing.

***

Potter returned half an hour later, the kid in tow. Yuuri, unsettled, watched silently as the man sat Plisetsky down at a Transfigured table, gestured for Yuuri to do the same, and produced two pieces of parchment and a set of quills.

‘Lumos’, he just said. ‘Write down all you can do with this spell. You have five minutes’.

Deciding he could always ask later, Yuuri grabbed the quill and dipped it in blue ink.

‘I’m not gonna do that’, Plisetsky announced, interrupted Yuuri before he even put the quill to the parchment.

Potter moved closer to the kid. He looked tired, worse than in the morning.

‘You have a choice, Yuri. You can throw a tantrum and I’ll Portkey you back home. You won’t learn anything from Yuuri, you won’t learn anything from me, and you won’t learn anything from your coach because you simply don’t want to learn. Or you can act like an adult and I’ll treat you like one, and something good will come out of your brief visit here’, Potter said. It was more than Yuuri heard him say since the morning, and for a moment he wondered how exhausted the man was.

‘When I was fifteen, a man kept things from me. I want to be treated as his equal, but I didn’t think and rushed into things. It ended badly’. Potter took a deep breath. ‘So I can teach you not to make my mistakes. I can teach you to think. But if you think you can just wander in and waste our time, you’re free to return to Moscow right this moment and say hi to Feltsman from me’.

Yuri didn’t say anything after that.

It turned out you could do more with a simple Lumos than Yuuri had ever realized. Plisetsky’s list had exactly one point on it, _LIGHT_ written in a spidery, angry sprawl. Potter took a look at it – he didn’t seem disappointed, but Yuuri could just _imagine_ – and then compared it with Yuuri’s own short list, which included three bullet points and a doodle.

‘What do you have, Yuuri?’, Potter asked. ‘Oh. It’s going to be difficult with you two sharing the same name. Starting today, I’m calling you Yurio’, Potter decided, pointing at the kid.

The kid tried to protest.

‘You wanted to learn’, Potter just said.

Yurio fell silent.

‘Yuuri, go on, then’.

‘Lumos produces light’, Yuuri replied quietly. ‘It can also emit warmth but not too much. And if you overpower it, you can set small things on fire but it’s just useless if you can cast an Incendio instead’.

‘Good’, Potter said. ‘Anything else?’

Yuuri shook his head.

‘Lumos’, Potter mused. ‘It can also protect you against creatures such as ghouls. I don’t suppose you get many of them here, in Japan, but as far as I know, it should work against your endemic species, too. It saves you from some deadly plants, and you need to cast it if you ever run into Devil’s Snare. This one is rather rare though’.

Potter stepped in front of Yurio and gestured for him to stand up and join him on the platform.

‘That’s it then. Duel me. Bow. On the count of three... two... one...’, and when Yurio attacked with a well-aimed Stupefy, Potter moved out of its way and responded with an overpowered spell.

‘ _Lumos!’,_ he shouted as the bright light emitted from his wand sped towards Yurio.

The blinded boy could never react. Potter cast a Petrificus Totalus, not even bothering to put an effort into it.

‘You wrote _LIGHT’,_ Potter emphasised. ‘That’s what you do with it’.

He walked towards the boy and checked his eyesight; when he was satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, Potter hopped off the platform and produced a list of basic spells.

‘You don’t need fancy spells to win’, he said. ‘Sometimes you don’t even need any spells. All you need is your mind and your instincts. Write all the uses for these spells you can come up with. Call me when you’re done’.

And with that, he left the room.

Yurio started after him, long and hard, his eyes reddened.

‘That bastard’, he said. ‘That’s not what I expected’.

***

When they showed their lists to Potter in the evening, he took a look, nodded his approval and send them back with a short ‘Write more’.

***

The following morning, Potter took them to a waterfall, produced a charmed bottomless bag and made them list down uses for common household objects he took out of it, one after another.

Yurio mumbled something in Russian that Yuuri didn’t understand, and grudgingly produced a short list.

Yuuri came up with an impressive twenty-three for an empty bottle.

***

‘How many points have you got?’

‘Forty-eight’.

‘Fuck you’.

***

Lumos grew faster than Yuuri’s assortment of spells. Before long, the toy poodle sneaked into Yuuri’s life with the joyful lack of coordination only puppies were capable of. Yuuri, already well used to the soft fur and viciously adorable puppy attacks, learnt to take the dog with him whenever he could. Potter didn’t mind it if there was a ball of fluff chewing on his shoelaces during the duelling practice.

Yurio did mind, though.

‘This is ridiculous’, he decided one day. They were sitting in the inn, both sweaty after the training but too tired to shower. Yuuri felt vaguely disgusting and dreamed of katsudon and hot water, but couldn’t move with Lumos sat sprawled on Yurio’s knees, fast asleep. Yurio was making a conscious and obvious effort to appear indifferent about it.

‘What is ridiculous?’, Yuuri asked. Just a moment ago, Minako-sensei had convinced Potter to duel, and he’d been wondering whether he should try to go and watch it, or soak in the onsen instead. Whatever Yurio’s trail of thought was, he didn’t catch it.

‘This dog’, Yurio growled. ‘This dog is ridiculous. Did you really have to get a poodle, too?’

‘Too?’, Yuuri repeated.

‘The old man has one, too’, Yurio barked. ‘A bigger one. He even brings it to competitions, that idiot’.

In the short amount of time he’d known the kid, Yuuri had observed a lot of things. Yurio had a Muggle phone and he texted with the same intensity he duelled.  He secretly liked when Yuuri’s mum fussed over him like she fussed over everybody else, no exception, even though he pretended to be offended. He was definitely not a dog person.

He wasn’t a Nikiforov person, either.

They had never broached the issue, but Yuuri thought he could figure it out nonetheless – a younger duellist dreaming to knock the older, more accomplished one off the platform, but only getting biting condescension for his efforts.

That Yuuri understood only too well.

‘He has a poodle’, Yuuri repeated, woodenly. It hurt, sudden like a pulled joint. Lumos drooled on Yurio’s lap. Yuuri sat straight as if electrified. Somehow, somewhat, it felt personal again.

‘A big ugly poodle’, Yurio confirmed. Yuuri, for a second, wanted to feel appalled on the dog’s behalf, but it was all about Nikiforov and he knew that this, at least, they both had in common. He kept his mouth shut.

‘Hey’, Yurio suddenly perked up. His eyes glimmered with something hard to define – it could be curiosity if disdain wasn't Yurio’s default expression. ‘You hate him, right? Nikiforov’.

Yuuri, for a heartbeat, fell silent. Definitions were too limited, too bounding, and really, could all his emotions be contained within four letters? It was only one syllable; Yuuri contained a whole cosmos of rage, and shame, and fear. In a second of clarity, the memory of Sochi came back vivid, with full force, and Yuuri swallowed down the bitter distaste he experienced whenever he pictured Nikiforov’s pale face, perfect like a statue and perfectly empty. Vaguely he realized that Yurio, too, had to share some of his feelings. There was a reason he came to train in Hasetsu, as light-headed and spur-of-the-moment it had been. But Yuuri suspected the blond teenager had never had to battle Nikiforov, his indifference, and self-doubt at the same time. Yuuri, still, wasn’t sure how to feel about what had happened – but he knew what had happened, and he knew he could do better.

‘Yes’, he said in the end because maybe Yurio wouldn’t understand, but there were moments – hours, night, and days – when Yuuri himself wasn’t. Saying ‘yes’ was simply easier, and for all he knew it could be the truth.

‘He was supposed to help me with my spell transitions’, Yurio admitted. ‘And he forgot. Again and again, until I didn’t need him anymore’.

‘At least he knows who you are’, Yuuei said, bitterly. To his astonishment, Yurio laughed.

‘Of course he does’, he confirmed. ‘I put so many Dungbombs into his bed that he can’t forget me’.

They shared a smile, quick as a jinx before Yurio scowled.

‘I’m still too young’, he said. ‘But you’re not. I’ve trained with the old man. I know him better than you do. I teach you, you beat him, and I want your spell sequences’.

Yuuri stared at the kid, oddly calm even when Yurio glared back at him – but it was obvious there was nothing malicious in the challenge Yuuri could see on the kid’s face.

‘Deal’, he said. ‘So? Spill’.

‘So, he opens on the right for a split second after an Expulso...’

***

As Yuuri’s return to the platform came closer, Potter incorporated more and more elements into their daily routine. He’d leave prepare training regimes so rigorous that Yuuri thought he must have defeated Voldemort with sheer stubbornness alone.

‘Your next event is in two weeks’, Potter said. ‘And you’re out of practice’.

How could he be out of practice with Potter breathing down his neck, Yuuri didn’t know. Mari joked he must have been possessed by an evil poltergeist, but Yuuri couldn’t see much humour in it, it was simply too true. Now that Yuuri’s knee was completely healed, Potter introduced more exercise to their daily training, much more than Cialdini ever had. Yuuri never felt so at ease with his cherry wand in hand – while it had been his reliable friend and support over the years, now it slowly became an extension of his arm. Casting felt as natural as breathing.

‘You should consider getting a Mastery in Charms’, Potter mused as they went through a list of spells he took out of _Advanced Spellcasting._ ‘You’ve got quite a knack for it’.

‘Uhm, thanks’, Yuuri said. ‘I’m not that good’.

‘Geez’, Yurio interrupted. ‘You’ve just cast a silent _Partis Temporus._ Give yourself some credit, you idiot’.

‘Yurio, no name-calling while I’m...’

‘You’re name-calling _me_!’.

Yurio decided that interrupting his own practice was a good course of action. He sat angrily the duelling platform, his legs not quite touching the floor, and proceeded to observe how Potter instructed Yuuri.

‘Yurio, get back to your non-verbal spells, you need to work on more focus’.

‘I’ll observe Katsudon’, Yurio said, and _Merlin, I should have never mentioned that dish to him that one evening in the onsen.’_ So I can watch his mistakes’.

Potter, amazingly, let him be.

‘He’ll come around’, he mumbled to Yuuri. ‘Just ignore him’.

Yuuri tried. But he never performed well under pressure, and he did even worse under a gaze of somebody who knew what Yuuri was doing. His hand trembled just slightly, and _oh no Potter saw that I bet he would never..._

‘Yuuri’, the voice was calm, like an ocean wave. ‘Yuuri, breathe’.

Yuuri breathed.

***

‘So you get, what? Panicky?’, Yurio asked.

After Yuuri’s panic attack, Potter gave them the afternoon off, made sure they were safe, and went to Floo call a friend. Yuuri honestly preferred this – it was one thing to see his idol battle insomnia in wee hours of the morning, but it was another to get his idol witness Yuuri battle his own demons and fail. Potter leaving gave Yuuri a sense of relief – that is, until Yuri Plisetsky invited himself to his room, all tiger prints and fifteen years of rage, and awkwardly threw at him a chocolate frog.

‘Anxious’, Yuuri corrected. The frog tasted okay, as far as chocolate went; Yurio chewed on his own wordlessly, looking contemplative.

‘That sucks’, Yurio grunted. ‘What is it like?’.

Yuuri hesitated; in truth he didn’t want to talk about it at all. Anxiety sat heavy like a leaden coat on his mind, enveloping him with a force he would never be ready to repel. If there was a language in which he could express what it was like, Yuuri would write an epic poem.

But they were speaking English.

‘It’s bad’, Yuuri just said.

***

Yuuri woke up to a strange sensation. His bed was as welcoming and welcoming as always, his pillow just as soft, and yet something felt distinctly _off_.

‘You’re awake’, a voice said.

Potter.

‘What?’, Yuuri yawned. ‘I’m sorry but...’, _what are you doing here?,_ Yuuri tried to add, but there was something awkward about questioning your coach, even if the coach must be watching you sleep at six in the morning. Yuuri forced his eyes open, randomly reaching for his glasses on the bedside table.

‘Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes’, Potter said. Yuuri sloppily put his glasses on, and _oh, it wasn’t Potter at all._

In front of his bed, a silver deer stood tall and imposing, shimmering with light. Yuuri had never seen Potter’s Patronus this close – he had never seen _any_ Patronus this close – and he hadn’t even realized you could use this spell to convey messages.  He stared as if under a spell, and moved only when the deer melted away in the pale morning light.

‘Okay’, Yuuri breathed out. ‘Merlin. I want to learn this’.

It took him a whole of ten minutes to get ready, and when he all but jogged down to the kitchen, Potter was waiting, a cup of tea in his hand. He drank tea dark and with milk, and Yuuri absolutely hated it, but he wasn’t about to say anything.

Potter looked like death warmed over; he was still wearing yesterday’s workout clothes, now wrinkled and stained, and his eyes were reddened and puffed.

‘You sent me a Patronus’, Yuuri said without preamble. ‘It talked’.

‘Yeah’, Potter admitted. His hand wandered up to his hair, scratching the back of his head in what Yuuri, astonishingly, identified as embarrassment. ‘I  couldn’t sleep and I was thinking... can you cast a Patronus, Yuuri?’, he asked suddenly.

Yuuri shook his head.

‘No’, he admitted. ‘I tried and gave it up, it was too difficult to even produce a mist’.

Potter hummed and took a sip of his tea; Yuuri tried not to wince and failed. From the quirk of his lips, Yuuri could see Potter did take notice.

‘It’s a bloody difficult spell’, he conceded. ‘You’ll get the hang of it by the end of next week’.

***

‘Focus on your happiest memory’, Yurio parrotted mockingly. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Give me your best’.

‘Shut up’, Yuuri said. Potter might be a genius with the wand, but in this case, his instructions proved to be entirely unhelpful. With his assistance, Yuuri – and Yurio – both got their wand movements down, not that they were that complicated. But neither of them could muster the power needed to channel the spell, not even after Potter made them sit down and consider their happiest memories.

Yuuri had plenty, and he couldn’t help but feel all of them chimed with a touch of sadness. Even the day he hugged Lumos for the first time reminded him of the failure in Sochi.

Yuuri was sure that if there a spell that relied on your worst memory, he’d have no problem pining it down.

‘Okay’, he said. ‘Let’s brainstorm it. Things we like. Maybe it’s something simple’.

Yurio flopped down on Yuuri’s bed with no care. ‘There’s nothing simple about it.  Potter’s even worse than Yakov... Yakov at least gives you good instructions. Potter gives you good bullshit’.

‘He doesn’t’, Yuuri defended out of loyalty, but deep down he felt as baffled as Yurio. He looked down on his cherry wand, twirling it between his fingers. Whatever made him happy, it didn’t work well enough for the spell.

‘What memory does Potter use again?’, Yurio asked. He wore an expression of deep concentration on his face, intense enough he forgot to scowl.

‘His dead family’, Yuuri said.

Yurio didn’t answer. Fair enough; Yuuri thought back to the memories he had tried for the spell. Was there anything that made him absolutely, unquestionably happy, enough to produce a feeling strong enough so that he could pull on it and pour it into the spell?

Katsudon, it turned out, was strong enough a memory to produce a mist.

***

‘For a wizard as good as you are’, Minako said, you’re surprisingly dense’.

Whatever conversation she was hoping to have with him, Yuuri knew he wouldn’t enjoy it – not when he was doing stretches against the barre in her studio, breathing through the burn of his hamstrings.

‘Hold it for five more seconds’, Minako advised, looking at his lifted leg. ‘Anyway, you could really spend more time with the kid. He looks up to you’.

‘To me?’, Yuuri said. ‘Minako-sensei, this is ridiculous. He’s here for Harry Potter’.

Minako tsked. Yuuri, who had known her for years, was well accustomed to the sound.

‘The other leg now’, she ordered. Obediently, Yuuri switched. ‘Yurio had no idea Potter was here. He came here for you. And what did you do for him?’

Admittedly, not much. Yuuri kept his mouth shut and eyes fixed on his raised leg. It was easier than facing Minako.

‘I’ve got a competition coming up’, he said, finally. ‘I have no time to teach him!’.

‘Doesn’t. Matter. You’re Japan’s best duellist, Yuuri’, she said sharply. ‘You won at Durmstrang last year, and you got Giacometti a run for his money in Sochi. _Plisetsky looks up to you_ and you ignore him. Go and fix it’.

***

‘ _Confringo! Confringo!Reducto Maxima!’_

Yurio didn’t believe in subtlety. Yuuri spent their duel blocking milder and wider explosions, preventing fires and jumping out of the way of transfigured throwing knives.

‘ _Bombarda!’_

Yuuri cast a silent shield and followed with a Stunner. Feigning to the left, he cast a triple _Imedimenta!_ and when Yurio blocked all of them, Yuuri threw himself to the ground as a blaze travelled his way and almost scorched his hair.

_Merlin’s bloody balls._

Yuuri rolled to the side and replied with a wordless Aquamenti, fast and overpowered, which Yurio was too slow to block. Yuuri wasted no time, following with a quick freezing spell aimed at the ground, and soon Yurio was losing balance.

Adrenaline in his veins, Yuuri got up and immediately jumped out of the way of the spell Yurio responded with. It was badly aimed, but Yuuri didn’t let it drop his guard. His school robes didn’t turn gold for nothing.

‘ _Catastrophe!’_

Sure that it would work, he cast a Freezing charm at Yurio, effectively binding him in one place as he reached to catch a small angry kitten that threw itself at his face.

‘Nice one, Yurio’, Yuuri said, banishing the ice and freeing his opponent from the spell. ‘Thanks’.

Yurio looked at the kitten he was still holding, and then at Yuuri, and then at the kitten one more time.

‘That was a low blow’, he spat out. ‘I hate you’.

‘It was great duelling you, too’, Yuuri said. ‘Don’t get too attached. The spell is not permanent’.

‘Is there no way to make the cat stay?’

Yuuri shrugged. If there was anything that could defy laws of magic, it was a cat.

‘If there is, I don’t know it. Say your goodbyes and we can duel again’.

‘I will end you this time’, Yurio promised and hugged the kitten.

***

Try as he might,  three days passed Yuuri couldn’t get the Patronus right.

‘You think too much’, Potter said. ‘Don’t think. Feel. I know you can do that’.

Yuuri tried. It turned out that he couldn’t.

Potter finally ran his hand through his hair, a gesture Yuuri had learnt to associate with his coach being lost deep in touch. He fell quiet; Yuuri, and even Yurio, knew better than to interrupt him thinking.

‘You dance’, he said suddenly. ‘That’s it. Go to the studio. Dance the memory out. Don’t think about it, just move. This will work’.

Yuuri Apparated to the studio and sat idly in the hall, waiting for Minako’s class to end. She only taught there in the afternoons, spending her mornings drilling spells into little wizards’ heads, and Yuuri knew soon she would finish for the day. He was right; moments passed before he heard chatter and the door opened, letting a group of children out and a beam of sunshine in. Minako appeared behind them, poised and smart in her impeccable clothes, but Yuuri knew her well enough to see how tired she was.

‘Beginners’ classes are always exhausting’, she said instead of greeting him. ‘What are you doing here, Yuuri-kun?’.

Yuuri looked at her and then at the empty studio behind her, all steel and wood and fine dust floating in sunlight. It was only four in the afternoon; he’d be home well before sunset.

‘Could I dance here?’, he said. ‘If it’s not booked’.

Minako didn’t look startled. With a knowing look, she nodded and moved aside to let Yuuri in.

‘By all means’, she said. ‘Would you like me to stay?’.

Would he? Minako’s help was invaluable, but also – surprisingly – unnecessary. Yuuri shook his head, feeling more certain than he’d had in weeks.

‘No, thank you’, he said, politely, but already moving inside the studio. The wooden floor under his feet felt like home. ‘I’ve got it’.

***

_‘Expecto Patronum!’_

Yuuri held his breath. A glowing milk mist escaped from his cherry wand, travelling up until it hung above Yuuri’s head like a ceiling. The studio brightened with the gentle light. Yuuri waited – and then, the mist shifted just so, as if hesitantly, and formed a faint but unmistakable shape.

Yuuri’s Patronus turned towards him in the air like an agile acrobat and peered at him curiously. It was a sable, Yuuri knew; and he laughed, freely, and couldn’t help but think how strange it was that this moment, too, could become his Patronus memory.

Yuuri slowly lowered his wand and reached his other hand to touch the animal, but before his palm brushed the silver fur, the Patronus blinked lazily and disappeared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a human potato who can't keep deadlines and yeah, it took me way longer than I planned.  
> I'm sorry.  
> I'm hoping - hoping being the key word here - to update one more time in June. The outline is done but I've got four exams ahead and a thesis to submit, so I need to survive that first. 
> 
> All praise [the wonderful SHSLshortie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie) for putting up with me when I got stuck on one scene, and then offering to beta this 22 pages long monstrosity so it's actually readable, and for being generally awesome about everything. And above all for coming up with the cutest idea ever about Harry stirring his tea wandlessly like the wizard in PoA. Thank you <3 If anything is wrong with this chapter, it's totally my fault and not hers. 
> 
> Also, special thanks to my friend [Zei](http://zeilena.tumblr.com/) for helping me figure out the Patronus thing, making me sure that Yuuri's Patronus HAS to be a sable, and for inventing the Catastrophe spell, which proved once and for all that the three years I took Latin at school are worth nothing when it comes to the power of puns in terms of spell-invention. And anything else. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for all the kudos and lovely comments, I really appreciate them and they keep me going. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it took me much longer than expected, but finally, it's done! Thank you for all the kudos and wonderful comments, they gave me life when I struggled to stay awake during my exams.  
> There are some notes at the end which may or may not be interesting. 
> 
> [SHSLshortie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie) did a wonderful job and magically made this chapter readable <3
> 
> Happy reading!

_VICTOR NIKIFOROV NEEDS NO GLAMOURS_

_For all his high-profile public appearances and noteworthy achievements, the Russian star duellist remains notoriously elusive. As much as reporters inquire about his private life, they have guessed little — and he’s revealed even less. Yet here he is now, opening his heart and home to Witch Sportly._

_He welcomes me into his kitchen – a place eerily bright, airy, metallic, in a bizarre Muggle fashion very few wizards choose – and insists on making me tea with jam, Russian-style, before allowing me to ask any questions. At home, Victor Nikiforov is not what you’d expect – relaxed, bare-footed, in loose-fitting clothes; he doesn’t command attention the way he does on the duelling platform._

_‘A part of duelling is the performance’, he discloses when I comment on that. ‘Here, at home, I don’t have an audience’._

_That’s not true; for one, he has just invited a reporter into his house. And of course, there is Makkachin, the beloved pet that is perhaps the only part of Nikiforov’s private life he never stops talking about.’I could never consider Makkachin as an audience’, Viktor disagrees with a strange fire in his voice. ‘Always a friend’._

_I can’t see the famous poodle anywhere; other than a single moving photograph of Victor and Makkachin at a park, the flat is empty – devoid of both dogs and of knick-knacks._

_‘I travel often’, Nikiforov shrugs when I ask him. ‘It’s the tea that makes me call a place home. Do you like it?’._

_I obediently take a sip and truthfully say that no, I don’t. He casually charms the kettle so that I can drink something different, but his eyes seem amused._

_‘I suppose it’s an acquired taste’, he agrees easily. ‘Like most things in life’._

_The way he slouches his shoulders by the kitchen island is completely different from the confident strides on the platform that his fans have grown to love. He looks a bit out of place in the neat, well-kept space (‘I’d just finished tidying up before you knocked. I wanted to make a good impression’). I wonder if living here, in this seaside city, was an acquired taste as well._

_‘No’, the response comes swift. ‘Sankt Petersburg is where I want to be’._

_It wasn’t always the case, though. Nikiforov, a half-blood, is the only son of a Muggle businessman and a witch from an old Pureblood family. He spent the first years of his life away from the Baltic coast he admires so much, in the Mari El Republic in continental Russia, before moving away to board at Koldovstoretz._

_‘My childhood was wonderful’, Victor admits freely and his smile makes it impossible to doubt his words. ‘My father is Muggle and Russian; my mother is a witch, half-Russian, half-Mari, so I could grow up surrounded by different magics and the non-magical world too. I didn’t realize at that time what a gift it was.’_

_His words seem to confirm what Nikiforov has long been known for – his great adaptability and use of unique spells._

_‘My mother’s spells’, he confirms. ‘She blended two worlds into herself. When I moved away from Yoshkar-Ola as a child, it was hard to leave my mother behind, but her spells make me remember the important things in life’._

_So I ask what is important in his life; Nikiforov takes a long moment to answer, moving to prepare my (jam-less) tea manually, like a Muggle, instead of flicking his wand (‘It’s birch and zmey scale, but you already know that. It’s officially registered for duelling competitions’)._

_‘No comment. I won’t tell you’, he finally decides, a bit mischievously. ‘It’s my thing to know. If you’re looking for an answer, go somewhere else, go meditate – but don’t ask me’._

_He speaks politely, but I don’t prod. The tea he serves me now tastes better and Victor seems content to sit in silence, but this is not why I came here and he knows it._

_‘You want to ask about the next competition’, he states._

_His words are not totally unexpected; who doesn’t want to know about that? However, it’s refreshing to see how unguarded he is when he says it. Victor Nikiforov’s face on the platform is one thing; his face at home is another._

_‘I wanted to ask if you’re ready for it’, I say, ‘but we both know you are’._

_‘It’s been a while since I have had any kind of stage fright’, he admits easily. ‘Duelling becomes your second nature if you’ve done it long enough’._

_And he has – he started young, his first year at school when duelling still felt foreign and strange._

_‘But it was exhilarating’, he confesses with a carefree, nostalgic smile, ‘so different, unlike anything I ever learnt back home. The moment I fired the first spell, I knew that was it’._

_Does he still feel the same excitement? He shakes his head._

_‘It’s different now’, he says. ‘I know what to expect, I can predict some things. It’s a lot like playing chess. But you never know everything, your opponent never knows everything, and that’s the exciting part’._

_He talks about his next competition – and as he becomes animated. Victor uses more gestures than he has so far, his wand flying haphazardly from his fingers (‘Don’t tell my coach!’)._

_‘Of course I’m ready to face my competitors at Eurasia Championships’, he claims. ‘My spells are as good as ever’._

_I ask about any tricks he’s prepared, but he refuses to answer._

_‘Obviously’, he retorts with a wink, ‘you’d use them against me.  But, I can tell you that I always try to change things a bit. For me, the most important thing is that I want my spells to be true to me – to represent who I am and what I am. So this is not a constant thing –it can change – and it does. There is no beauty in this sport if you don’t stay true to yourself’._

_There certainly is beauty in Nikiforov’s duelling style, always vibrant and unapologetic. Now the hour spent at his home, with Victor the man, not the champion, but a man who makes bad tea and is conscious about specks of dust on the kitchen counter. This proves he is a beautiful person as well._

Yuuri folded the newspaper in half so that Nikiforov’s blue, blinking eyes wouldn’t stare back at him with this strange, distant softness. Once the picture was covered by the unfamiliar sight of neat rows of the Cyrillic, Yuuri didn’t have a reason to hold it anymore, and yet he absently traced the Russian letters with his finger, thinking.

Yurio had dropped the newspaper clipping by an incredibly angry owl that immediately flew back to Russia, not waiting for a reply. There was a note attached, written in the same scrawl which Yuuri remembered from the few days when they studied together in Hasetsu.

_Saw your collection. Thought I’d contribute. Some British witch interviewed him and they printed it here in Russia too. Translating sucked. Couldn’t find the English one._

_Beat his ass or I won’t send more._

It wasn’t signed, but it didn't have to be; even if he hadn’t recognized the handwriting, Yuuri only knew one wizard in Russia who he exchanged mailing addresses with.

Yurio had returned home three days prior. Potter had insisted to Floo along with him to talk to Yakov – an idea which made Yurio only marginally enraged – and they all gathered in the morning in the living room by the open hearth.

‘It’s a weird fireplace’, Yurio grumbled. He’d seen it before, but Yuuri expected the kid was simply annoyed to have to go.

‘It’s an irori’, he explained patiently. ‘We don’t get fireplaces like in Europe. Originally, we didn’t even have the Floo powder’.

This perked Yurio up; seeing a glint of curiosity in his eyes, Mari quickly turned to explain how Japan had relied on their own vernacular magic for centuries if not longer. Japan had only opened its borders since the Meiji period when a lot of spells and magical inventions were introduced to their daily lives. That’s what happened with Floo travel; Mari looked like she wanted to go on and on about how the Japanese had to adapt their irori to connect to the network, and how it was impossible to Floo through the more modern kotatsu which replaced the irori in non-magical households.

‘Our grandmother still relies on Japanese magic much more than on foreign spells’, Mari concluded. ‘She’s been complaining for years that Yuuri should change his fighting style’.

‘Why wouldn’t you?’, Yurio asked him. The eye that was uncovered by his fringe had an intense glint in it ‘It would give you an edge over the rest of your competitors’. _Against Nikiforov,_ he didn’t say, but Yuuri heard it nonetheless.

‘Why don’t you use more Russian spells?’, Yuuri said with a shrug. ‘It’s a Western sport. Our magic relies on a completely different set of dynamics. Single spells are fine; more emphasis on them could throw you out of the competition in the first place. It’s too different’.

Yurio looked as if he wanted to argue, but Potter beat him to it.

‘And that’s why you both should focus on them more’, he announced. ‘I’ll talk to Yakov about it’.

He seemed too pleased with the idea. Yuuri swallowed; there was no way he could do it. Japanese magic was intricate and close to his heart the way very few Western spells could ever be. His uncertainty must have shown on his face – Potter just laughed, although there was no malice behind it.

‘You have me to practice with’, he said. ‘And you, Yurio. We’ll talk to your coach’.

‘You just said that’, Yurio muttered. He eyed the irori with distrust and ducked when Mari, in a display of casual affection, tried to ruffle his hair. He turned to Potter. ‘Are we going or not?’

Potter rolled his eyes, not trying to be subtle. ‘Stand still. I’ll cast an Impervious on you’.

Yuuri quirked his eyebrow. Potter took his hand out of the pocket of his old Muggle gym tracksuit bottoms. Dressed carelessly as he was, he still carried his wand in a proper holster.

‘ _Impervius!_ ’, he muttered. ‘Done. I don’t get why wizards never use it before Floo travel. The ashes are disgusting and get into your eyes’.

Mari whistled. ‘I thought this charm didn’t work on solid objects’, she said.

Potter shrugged. ‘It doesn’t? Oh, right, it didn’t work when Hermione used it at Gringotts... I guess dust is simply not solid enough’, he said.

Mari looked at Potter like she wanted him to continue; Yuuri didn’t know what Gringotts had to do with anything either. But Potter simply stepped onto the irori and gestured at Yurio expectantly. He tended to do that – dropping snippets of his adventures at them casually as if he was talking about the weather. However this time, Yuuri was more interested in the unusual use of the spell. Yuuri was tempted to ask about it until he spotted the look on Potter’s face.Nothing drastic, but a fleeting, vague impatience – and Yuuri decided to ask later.

Potter was still waiting, but Yurio hesitated. He shuffled his foot and then stepped towards Yuuri, light like a cat, throwing a slip of Muggle paper into Yuuri’s hand.

‘Thanks’, he mumbled. ‘For... stuff. You’re not entirely gross. And I’m gonna beat you after you beat Nikiforov’.

Yuuri only watched, stunned. The kid blinked at him once and hopped to stand next to Potter.

‘What are you waiting for?’, he said. ‘Let’s go’.

Yuuri stood in front of the irori for a long moment after they were gone, breathing in the sulphuric after-smell of the Floo powder. Only then did he look at the paper Yurio had left in his hand.

It was the kid’s Floo address.

 

***

 

Soon Potter returned from Russia, yawning.

‘Yurio is a handful’, he said instead of a _good afternoon,_ ‘I’m so glad I don’t have kids’, and went straight to bed to sleep the travel off. Sighing, Yuuri persuaded Mari to duel with him in Potter’s stead.

‘What do you need me for?’, Mari chided. ‘You know I gave up duelling years ago’.

That was true: but Yuuri didn’t always enjoy training alone. He was used to Phichit’s sunny presence, his coaches’ criticism and now, even Yurio’s grumpiness. It felt good to train alone while he was figuring out the spells, but drills he preferred to do when he had some company.

Plus, as far as the company was concerned, Mari’s was excellent. Coming home after graduation meant Yuuri could finally spend more time with his sister, and he wanted to do just that.

‘I need you to tell me what sucks when I do something that sucks’, Yuuri succinctly replied.

‘I’d rather tell you what’s awesome when you do something that’s awesome’.

 

***

 

It wasn’t awesome.

Mari waited as Yuuri stretched; it seemed like she didn’t care enough for her own mobility since her duelling style relied more on sheer force and attack, but Yuuri took his time to feel the familiar burn in his muscles. Yuuko and Takeshi had installed a barre just for him, even though he always used the one at Minako’s. Now Yuuri breathed through the strain of his calf muscles, one leg up on the barre and the other firmly on the ground, watching as his sister looked at him with the same bored expression he knew well.

‘I could never get the hang of it’, she said.

That was true; Yuuri’s fighting style demanded a different kind of concentration than Mari was accustomed to. She tackled all her problems head-on, too practical to be called fearless, while Yuuri...

Well...Yuuri just stretched, panicked, and reacted.

Stretching was supposed to get him into the mindspace he was comfortable in to duel, but today was different. His hamstrings felt tense and inflexible, a reminder of his recent injury; and of course, there was Viktor Nikiforov – his words from the interview ringing true in Yuuri’s mind, echoing and echoing until he could not tell them from his own thoughts anymore.

 _Staying true to yourself,_ Nikiforov said. So he meant that – he was sincere when he didn’t recognize Yuuri, when he ignored him like a speck of dust. Yuuri repeated his words again and again until they blended with the burn of his muscles and he ached with an  unrecognisable, blunt and empty pain.

‘You ready to start?’, Mari asked. She seemed to recognize that something was wrong, but the years spent away from Mahaukotoro and from Yuuri meant she wasn’t as familiar with his warm-up routine as she used to be. Yuuri breathed out loudly and nodded.

Maybe it would pass.

‘I want to practice the Patronus first’, he said. ‘Cast some spells at me and I’ll respond with it, okay?’.

Mari nodded. She hopped on the platform and readied herself.

‘Don’t be too harsh on me, little brother’, she teased. ‘I’m not a champion’.

Then she fired – a simple Stunner, powerful and well-executed, but nowhere near the force level of Potter’s unforgiving spells. Yuuri blocked it with a Shield out of habit and swore.

‘Shit. Again. I forgot’.

Mari nodded and fired again; this time, Yuuri braced himself, brought up the powerful memory and screamed the spell out.

_‘Expecto Patronum!’_

The mist came, white like milk foam and just as steady. Mari’s Stunner cut through it with an ease of a bullet and it took Yuuri’s sharp reflexes to jump off the platform to avoid it.

‘One more time?’, Mari asked. The mist dissolved in the air. Yuuri looked at it but the sable did not form at all.

‘Yeah’, he said. ‘I need to get it right’.

 

***

 

Yuuri didn’t get it right. The memory of the sable – strong, swift, and elegant – weighed on his mind, but try as he might, Yuuri couldn’t cast it again. Eventually, Mari left. She needed to help out at the onsen; still, her presence, although soft and understanding, didn’t ease Yuuri’s building frustration. Mari then Apparated back home, leaving him with the warmth of her goodbye hug and the lingering feeling that something was wrong.

Potter showed up a moment later.

‘Mari woke me up’, he said instead of greeting. ‘And I’m glad she did. I slept like a log and we can’t have you skipping practice because of me’.

Of course Yuuri couldn’t skip his training – he could see that there was a lot to do, a lot to learn, and the upcoming competition in a few days left no room for imperfections.

And if there was ever a person built of a mosaic of imperfections, it was Yuuri.

‘I’ve been trying to cast the Patronus’, he admitted. ‘It's not working’.

Potter took one look at Yuuri – and with the way his coach appeared, eyes red and hair dishevelled, Yuuri thought they had to look alike in this moment. Two mirror images – only one is successful, and the other is not. Having sat on the edge of the platform, Potter patted the place on the platform with a sigh. Yuuri joined him, hesitantly. Potter wordlessly took off his shoes and socks – mismatched, with charmed Quidditch patterns on them – and hissed when the bare soles of his feet touched the cold floor.

‘It helps me to ground myself’, he explained. Yuuri nodded, and after a moment, did the same.

‘Patronus is a hard charm to master’, Potter said. ‘It’s trickier than any other. You need to find your safe space, your happy place, and channel it through your wand. It’s not only the usual focus, but it’s also the added emotional baggage. Emotions are difficult to contain. To squeeze them into a wand conduit... Magic is really great, isn’t it?’, he laughed. Yuuri didn’t join; it was perhaps the clearest thought Potter shared on the subject, but it still didn’t help him see how to apply it.

‘The thing is – with the Patronus, it’s always trial and error. You don’t cast it once and think it’s alright. You don’t cast it a hundred times and think it’s alright. It’s not a Lumos. Every time you cast it, you might fail, and that’s perfectly okay. The power of this spell doesn’t come from your magic, Yuuri. It comes from your mind’.

 _So you’re saying I’m weak,_ Yuuri wanted to reply. What Potter said sounded like something Nikiforov would say, too, if he even recognized Yuuri in the first place.

‘I’m not saying you’re weak’, Potter continued, and Yuuri wondered if the other man knew Legilimency. ‘I’m saying that it takes something more than drilling to make this spell successful every time. It’s always a gamble when you cast it. Merlin’, he sighed, ‘I still don’t get it right every single time. Stress gets to you, sleep deprivation does it too, and sometimes you can just have a bad day. It’s okay. Use this spell if you want to risk it, if you feel sure you can do it. If not – you have options. You wouldn’t be here now if you didn’t have them’.

Yuuri sighed. The cold of the floor didn’t ground him like Potter said; instead, he felt the ice creeping up his calves.

‘So why are you teaching me this?’, he asked. ‘I’m not going to run into a Dementor anytime soon’.

Potter’s green eyes were dark, darker than Yuuri remembered them. The man looked at Yuuri and then turned to glance at the wall ahead of them. They sat together so closely that Yuuri could feel the other man shrug.

‘Sometimes I can’t cast it myself’, Potter revealed. ‘It doesn’t happen often, but it happens nonetheless. And it always hurts. You know, my Patronus –it’s a deer– just like my father’s Animagus form. That’s the thing with this spell – it conjures up a part of yourself, and if you can’t cast it, it feels like you’re failing, like you’re lacking something, like you’re not good enough. It’s a bloody cruel spell to know’.

Potter shifted – perhaps the cold floor finally got to bones, too – and put his feet up on the platform, hugging his knees.

‘But if you can make it, it’s worth it. It’s totally worth it’, he stopped and turned his face to Yuuri for the first time since he started speaking. ‘I have nightmares, Yuuri. About the war and other things. I quit duelling and went to Egypt to study spell-creation... I thought that maybe I could find something to heal myself since potions never worked, and the Patronus was not reliable enough. I learnt a lot but didn’t discover anything better. If I can pull myself together enough to cast a Patronus, it still brings me more comfort than anything else’.

Yuuri didn’t say anything to that. After a moment, Potter smiled – a tired smile which looked strangely at home on his exhausted face.

‘I know you’ve been taking the draught’, Potter started after a moment, carefully. ‘Do you need to go to your Healer again?’.

Yuuri shook his head.

‘I’m fine’, he promised. ‘I don’t need a healer. But, I think, the Patronus might help?’.

Potter searched for something in Yuuri’s face, his gaze sharp, but finally nodded.

‘So’, the man started. ‘Shall we practice?’.

 

***

 

At night, Yuuri lay in his bed with the covers kicked onto the floor. Lumos’ gentle snores lulled him into a restless slumber, but soon he woke up, distressed by his dreams. He wouldn’t call them nightmares – they were not terrible enough. Yet whatever happened in his mind, it awoke anxiety, the sly kind which snuck up on Yuuri like a sneeze.

Back at Mahoutokoro, whenever Yuuri’s whirling thoughts got a grip on him, Phichit would sit with Yuuri without question, offering his honest smile and comforting presence. He’d charm them both tea, warming the cups with a simple spell, and Yuuri would listen in easy silence as Phichit narrated Thai folk tales with the sway of a born storyteller. Sometimes, Phichit would choose divination over his stories. Yuuri had long learnt that Thailand had a great many Divination Masters, Phichit’s mother being one of them. His friend had quite a knack for predicting Yuuri’s future.

He wouldn’t be predicting it now. In Hasetsu, Yuuri roomed alone, with Lumos only – and he would sit in silence until the early rays of dawn would hit the thin walls of his bedroom, trying to shake off the restless butterflies of his thoughts.

 

***

 

Hasetsu was quiet in the morning. The shrieks of seagulls rang distant and eerie, as if the whole town was blocked by Yuuri’s tunnel vision and only the indifferent shrills of birds could get through to Yuuri’s ears.

Yuuri chose not to Apparate. Reckless, he could be – but not enough to risk Splinching before a competition. The walk to Yuuko was slow. Even though Yuuri felt the need to hurry before his training would start, he dreaded sneaking into Yuuko’s room like a thief.

But there was no other choice he could think of at such a short notice: he finally ran out of his Calming Draught in the wee hours of the morning, but he was not going to visit a Healer mere days before a competition. Yuuri was sure his dosage would be changed, and he couldn’t do that – it would affect his duelling ability.

An ability which was already shaky as it was: Yuuri felt like he was going nowhere. Potter’s instruction was practical and consistent, focused on drills but also on mindfulness that Celestino would often neglect. Yuuri could not blame his coach for his own shortcomings. Still, there was no progress. He needed a breakthrough, but didn’t know where to search for it. Yuuri felt as if he was in a dream; one of those in which you want to run but an invisible force keeps you in the same place. That force was Yuuri’s mind.

So he walked out in the morning, the dawn painting Hasetsu in pastel greys. Yuuri passed by the place his usual Healer lived. He knew there was no way he could risk a change of potions now.

Yuuko’s it was, then. At home, he was bound to be caught, but Yuuko didn’t open the shop until nine in the morning, and she rarely visited the backroom anyway. Yuuri estimated he had good three hours to brew the potion for himself.

It wasn’t going to be as good as if he bought the draught from a Potion Master, but Yuuri was proficient at potions, had scored well in all his classes, and had done tons of research since he’d started taking the draught on a regular basis. So he opened the door to Yuuko’s shop with a quiet _Alohomora!_ , and set up his cauldron and potion ingredients in front of a table he transfigured out of spare duelling gear.

He’d known the potion by heart, but ironic as it was, there was nothing calming about preparing the Calming Draught. The concoction required intense concentration and perfect timing; the ingredients needed to be cut just so, and stirring required precision akin to duelling. When it was done, he left the potion to steep and cool. While waiting, he did a few stretches – his back was going to kill him during the training – and only when he’d bottled the draught up, Yuuri cleaned up and snuck back out to go home.

 

***

 

The day before the competition, Yuuri packed and waited anxiously for Potter to join him in the kitchen. He forced himself to chew on some light breakfast – not that he was hungry, but Potter was a monster about healthy diet – and just tried not to think about Worlds.

There was nothing to think about, after all. His spells were still not as good as they could be – and if he couldn’t improve that much under Harry bloody Potter’s tutelage, he probably couldn’t improve at all.

Potter seemed to see it differently. Yuuri had caught him chatting with Minako enthusiastically about his progress – enthusiastically enough that Minako decided to tag along last minute, making Potter reevaluate his previous plan of Side-Alonging Yuuri all the way to Canada.

There were days Yuuri could almost forget how casually powerful Potter really was. But then he saw his coach pulling tricks like that – discussing if he could manage Side-Alonging two people from Japan to Quebec and coming to the conclusion that yes, he probably could, but didn’t want to risk it before Yuuri’s competition.That was when Yuuri would be hit by the fact that the real, living legend was there in his house –coaching him, joking with him, talking to him, and hopelessly trying and failing to use chopsticks.

When Potter finally entered the kitchen, it was with Minako at his heels. The man’s robes – the same nice set in which he’d showed up the first day he began coaching Yuuri – were slightly wrinkled, and his hair was an even bigger mess than usual. But he still sported a satisfied smile. Minako however, didn’t look as pleased.

‘Sorry we’re so late’, Potter apologised. ‘I had to pull some strings to license a Portkey at a moment’s notice. We don’t want you to Splinch a leg or two just before the tournament’.

‘He dragged me to the British Ministry of Magic’, Minako said to Yuuri, her tone accusatory. ‘at three in the morning’.

‘Time differences’, Potter shrugged. ‘Only the Minister of Magic can authorise a Portkey without the paperwork, and we had no way of applying for the permit since you decided to join us when the office was already closed for the evening. So we had to catch Hermione before she called it a night’.

‘You said yourself that woman never sleeps’, Minako grumbled. ‘Couldn’t it wait?’

‘Oh, it could’, Potter shrugged, again. ‘But she’d complain more in the morning. By the evening she’s already so frustrated with Ron that she will let me do as I please with minimal opposition’.

‘So _that_ was what you call ‘minimal opposition?’, Minako asked incredulously.

Potter looked unfazed.

‘No spells were cast, right?’.

‘That’s not exactly a... nice way to treat your friends’, Minako said.

‘Well, it was you who decided to join us, and I just chose the best moment I could to deal with Hermione. Believe me, she knew exactly what I was doing. If she hadn’t wanted us there, she’d have thrown us out before you could say “Alohomora”. Now, are you coming or not?’.

Yuuri shrugged. If not struck by his spells of sadness, Potter was like an overgrown Phichit – enthusiastic, energetic, and entirely unbearable. He reached for the Portkey that Potter was holding – a simple red glove, so that the three of them could easily hold on to its fingers – and soon they were all whisked away to Quebec.

 

***

 

The World Duelling Championships differed from the Grand Prix Final; Yuuri, personally, preferred this event. It was the second time he qualified, and although he didn’t medal the previous year, he enjoyed the atmosphere much more. There was a lot of pressure at Worlds – the competition gathered the most proficient duellists from the whole world as the name suggested. But with a larger number of competitors, Yuuri felt less anxiety. He wasn’t the centre of attention like he had been in Sochi.

Potter seemed to enjoy the competition as well; although he found himself in the spotlight the moment their Portkey landed, the man didn’t waste time to turn the reporters’ attention away from himself and either onto Yuuri or to the current duelling policy. Yuuri hadn’t even known the man had such strong opinions on duelling issues, and he felt both intrigued by his new coach’s words and grateful that nobody was asking Yuuri, what he thought.

‘I’m extremely happy to find myself at Worlds again, this time in a new role’, Potter announced with a calm smile; it was as if he put on a whole new persona for the journalists, and somehow Yuuri knew that it was the infamous Hermione Granger who must have prepared the man for it. ‘I’ve said it before, and I’m going to repeat it again: Worlds is my favourite competition. Not only for the excellent company of accomplished duellists but also thanks to the policy of inclusiveness. I have never understood, nor I ever will, why some duelling contests feel the need to separate wizards from witches. Magical ability has nothing to do with a duellist’s gender. Some of the most formidable opponents I have met in my life were witches. It does not matter whether your competitor is a wizard or a witch; how skilled they are is the only important thing’.

‘Damn right’, Minako muttered on Yuuri’s right. ‘Come on, Yuuri. Let him handle this. We can go to our  hotel room’.

So that was what Potter had been doing, Yuuri realized – keeping the journalists busy so that he and Minako could escape their grasp. Potter must have known how uncomfortable Yuuri was with their overbearing presence. So he turned the focus on himself, even though he didn’t seem like a man who wanted to bask in their attention either.

 

***

 

If Yuuri thought that Potter would behave during the competition the same way Celestino had, he was mistaken.

The morning of the first day, he forced Yuuri out on his usual run, followed by a stretching session with Minako and a duelling warm-up which left Yuuri red-faced and panting.

‘Adrenaline makes you react faster’, Potter said. ‘I’ve been telling Celestino that for ages, but some Purebloods don’t believe in hormones. Idiots’.

Miraculously, the early workout managed to wake Yuuri up. Potter ushered Minako out of their room – she agreed good-naturedly, happy to spot several competitors in the hotel lobby – and held Yuuri’s outer robe out for him to slip into.

‘I like these golden hems’, he mused. ‘They remind me of my Hogwarts House’.

‘Gryffindor, wasn’t it?’, Yuuri asked.

‘Mhm’, Potter said. He waited for Yuuri to fix his robes and moved a few steps away, by the door. ‘Although it was a close call. Now, I’m not going to give you a pep talk. They’re boring and I suck at them. But I have two words for you, Yuuri’.

‘I’m listening’, Yuuri said. There was something off about Potter – Yuuri didn’t know if it was the change of place, or maybe the adrenaline he wanted Yuuri to experience got into his head as well.

‘ _Petrificus Totalus!’_

Yuuri ducked. Potter had his wand in hand – when did he grab it, and how? – then fired a rainbow of curses faster than Yuuri could react. He swerved behind the bed and frantically cast the toughest shielding spell he knew.

Well, that explained why Potter walked away from him before.

Yuuri desperately wanted to take a deep breath but Potter’s attack didn’t leave him a choice – he had to step up and fight. Cursing, Yuuri responded with an overpowered Stunner, which Potter flickered away as if it was a fly.

‘ _Reducto’,_ Potter howled then and Yuuri jumped out of the way, blocking the spell with a knick-knack he Transfigured into a rock. Little stones cut Yuuri in the face and side.

_The hotel bill was going to be high._

_What was Potter playing at?_ Yuuri thought, firing a triple _Impedimenta!_ , but Potter avoided all of them. He leapt forward, over the bedside table, jumping onto the bed. He was maybe two meters away from Yuuri, almost within reach, taunting. Suddenly Yuuri knew why Potter insisted on practising wand close-combat, face to face; Potter was obviously much better, and much more experienced.

But Yuuri was angry.

‘ _Bombarda!_ ’, he screamed, pointing at the bed, jumping back and shielding himself against the splints of wood and feathered covers. Through the commotion Yuuri saw Potter cascading slowly onto the ground – the bastard must have levitated himself – with a pleased private smile.

Then, before he knew it, Yuuri’s wand flew out of his hand and onto the floor.

‘Constant vigilance’, Potter said. ‘It’s just two words, but the message is clear, isn’t it?’.

Yuuri stared at the man and then at his cherry wood wand. Around them, the room slowly quieted down in the fluff and puff of torn bedsheets and pieces of furniture. Potter’s mouth gave a quick twitch.

Yuuri burst into laughter.

 

***

 

Minako pulled a feather from Yuuri’s hair with a quick movement of her wand. Potter conveniently disappeared from sight – Yuuri _knew_ that was bound to happen – while Minako lectured him sternly on decorum.

‘It’s not my fault’, Yuuri said.

‘Don’t you dare blame your coach on this’, Minako replied. ‘He’s responsible’.

‘Minako-sensei’, Yuuri started. ‘With all due respect, do you even know what you’re saying?’.

‘Just curse him before he curses you’, Minako sighed.

They were standing by the wall in the elegant hotel lobby, waiting for the competition to start.For a moment, Yuuri thought they went unnoticed. Yuuri stood in the corner, his back to the wall, which gave him a good view of the space in front of him; behind Minako, dressed in her brightly patterned komono, Yuuri could see how duellists came and went, mingling with other guests. The bustle of the place made Yuuri think he blended in the background as if hidden under the Disillusionment Spell.

Only he didn’t. In the opposite corner of the lobby, next to the entrance door, was a pair of wizards, their light hair standing out so that Yuuri caught the sight of them. They were talking animatedly – Yuuri saw with clarity how Christophe Giacometti gesticulated at his companion, the movements of his body friendly and at ease. The wizard’s face was open, but not without a teasing smirk, and Yuuri, against his better judgment, got suddenly curious what the man was talking about.

Minako was still complaining about Yuuri’s dishevelled state, but he tuned her out as he realized who Giacometti was talking to. There he was, already in the official duelling robes with his usual blue hems – Viktor Nikiforov. From where he was standing, Yuuri only saw the other man’s, his figure hidden under the loose cut of the robe, accentuating only the sturdy dragonhide boots the man always wore to competitions, heavier and more solid than Yuuri’s own preferred soft leather. Nikiforov had his hair down in a ponytail, in the same style Potter sometimes wore his. But now he was turning his head just in time to lock his eyes with Yuuri’s.

‘Yuuri?’, Minako asked. ‘What’s wrong?’.

Yuuri could hear Minako perfectly well, but decided to ignore her for a moment. Somehow, Nikiforov looked the same way like in the newspaper clipping from Yurio – less distant than on the platform, almost reachable. From the distance, Yuuri had no way to see the other wizard’s expression clearly, but there was no mistake: the man stared at him, without reserve. Yuuri’s fingers twitched. He glared back, face tense, taking in Nikiforov’s angular face and sure, slender frame.

 _At least he acknowledges you now,_ Yuuri thought, and he blinked, as if pulled out of a dream.

‘Yuuri’, Minako repeated.

Something then changed in Nikiforov’s face – so many steps away, Yuuri could not see for certain. In the moment it took Yuuri to blink, Nikiforov smirked, a quirk of his lips minimal and one-sided, charming in the way only lethal spells could be.

Yuuri blinked again, once, twice.

‘Sorry’, he turned to Minako. ‘You were saying?’.

 

***

 

‘He’s totally into you’, Minako informed Yuuri a moment later, once she caught on what happened and managed to give Nikiforov a quick once-over just before the man slipped out of the lobby. Giacometti stayed, mingling noisily with a group of duellists from Italy.

‘Minako-sensei!’, Yuuri protested, but she stopped him with an effective look.

‘He glanced at you twice in the time I checked him out’, Minako stated soberly.

Yuuri snorted.

‘Nikiforov hates me’, Yuuri said. He wanted to add something else – something about how he felt, himself, but Minako didn’t let him.

‘I’m not sure what they teach you kids these days’, she began, her voice carrying the suffering and weight of old age wisdom, ‘but you can, in fact, feel hate and feel lust. At the same time’.

She patted Yuuri’s arm in the same patronizing way Phichit did whenever he deemed Yuuri to be particularly oblivious.

‘Though I don’t think that’s hate in his eyes, Yuuri-kun’.

 

***

 

The lobby slowly cleared out. Soon, Yuuri heard only Minako’s chattering and the usual multilingual murmur of soft voices. Although most of the competitors had begun to move to the duelling area, there was still time before the opening ceremony, and so Yuuri and Minako waited for Potter. They could see him, caught up in a conversation which an elderly man in ornate robes who looked like a sponsor. Next to him, Christophe Giacometti looked as blasé as if he’d already won – and then noticed Yuuri, and made his way towards him.

‘Yuuri’, he said with a slight accent. ‘So _good_ to see you here. And this lovely lady must be...?’

 _‘_ Okukawa Minako’, the witch said. ‘I’m Yuuri’s teacher’.

‘From the way you look, I thought you were his sister’, Giacometti replied smoothly, without a pause. ‘Are you a duellist too, madam?’

Minako shook her head.If Yuuri didn’t know her so well, he’d say she seemed a bit flustered.

‘Not at this level. Although it’s a hobby of mine’.

‘There’s a beauty to this sport’, Giacometti said to Minako, looking at Yuuri, ‘and I’m sure you’ll agree it is important to appreciate beauty’.

His sudden words were reminiscent of the interview Yuuri had read, but he still didn’t say anything. Chris’ presence felt a touch invasive, like an unwelcome spell, even though Chris had done nothing to provoke him, other than the flirting and sneaking too close into Yuuri’s comfort zone. Yuuri didn’t really mind Christophe – the man was easy-going, on good terms with everyone, although sometimes maybe on better terms than Yuuri himself was comfortable with.  Yet the red hems of the man’s robes suddenly felt like a warning sign.

‘I was hoping to see you here, Yuuri’, the wizard continued.

Yuuri, incredibly, only sighed. He’d seen this before – he’d lived through this before – and he knew what the man was going to do. There was just something about Giacometti that made him constantly try to grab people’s butts like other wizards grabbed their chocolate frogs. He suddenly recalled the morning duel with Potter, and entertained the thought of hexing Christophe right then and there, but before the blond man moved, another man entered the lobby, walking up to them in quick, sure strides.

‘Christophe!’, Nikiforov called. ‘I was looking for you’. He stopped for a moment, taking in the scene.Yuuri, awkward but trying to hide it, Minako standing perplexed next to him, and Chris, way closer to Yuuri than what human decency permitted – and only then, he approached them.

He didn’t say anything to Yuuri or Minako; Yuuri could feel her shift as she realized they were being ignored. But Nikiforov paid them no mind.

‘Chris’, he said, and Yuuri couldn’t quite read his voice; it might have been the accent, but he couldn’t quite distinguish between displeasure and exasperation. ‘Come on, Chris. This is beneath you’.

‘Excuse us’, Minako cut in, her tone icy cold. ‘But I think we have somewhere better to be’.

She pushed between Giacometti and Nikiforov as if they were specks of dust, too inconsequential to look at. Yuuri followed. Anger boiled in his veins, but he knew – just like he knew that Minako had been wrong earlier, so very wrong – that he couldn’t hex Nikiforov before the duel or he’d be disqualified.

During the duel, though – during the duel, it was a different matter.

 

***

 

Yuuri’s first opponent was an Italian witch, Sara Crispino. He hadn’t duelled against her before, but from what he’d seen, her performances were always direct and strength-focused, much more than her brother’s, whom Yuuri knew. 

‘She has a new coach’, Potter remarked quietly, as if Yuuri hadn’t known. ‘And they’re fantastic’.

Patrycja Zamaszewska, one of the strongest duelling champions, was a spell inventor who retired a year after Potter. It made sense that they knew each other, Yuuri mused. His eyes trailed in the direction Potter indicated; there, next to a young Italian in duelling robes, stood a pale green-haired woman, who waved vaguely in Potter’s direction.

‘That’s probably as much social interaction as I’m going to get from her’, Potter remarked, waving back. ‘I think she’s a champion because she really prefers to keep people at her wand’s length’.

Yuuri sighed. The woman gained fame after she had risen quickly to the podium and somehow avoided interviews even more than Potter did. All Yuuri knew about her style was from observation – and there was no telling whether any of her own experiences had helped shape her protégé’s style.

Sara looked way too cheerful for somebody who was about to step on the platform; her sunny expression seemed so out of place that Yuuri felt the heavy knot of dread in his stomach. Potter put a comforting hand on his arm.

‘You’ve worked hard to be here today, Yuuri’, he said intently. ‘Be proud of that. Whatever happens, it’s okay’.

Yuuri took a deep breath. Around him, the arena buzzed with the kind of excitement he knew well. He let his gaze sweep over the high stands and the heavy, rectangular platform, that was longer than in Sochi – Worlds had different duelling restrictions.

‘Good luck’, Potter said. ‘Although you don’t need it’.

Maybe Potter was right; maybe Yuuri didn’t need it, maybe all that there was to achieve came with the disgust and the hate he felt in that moment. Nikiforov must have disappeared somewhere. It was not fair that Sara Crispino was going to be his opponent instead of the Russian wizard, Yuuri thought, but there was nothing to be done about it. The man’s words still resonated in his chest as he walked towards the platform, _this is beneath you, this is beneath you,_ and he bowed to Crispino swiftly, hiding his face from the view. He hated himself for being weak enough that the man’s jibe hit him like an Unforgivable Curse.

Yuuri frantically tried to calm his heartbeat. _Hate will bring you nowhere, Yuuri,_ he told himself as the platform elevated, magic keeping it in the air, twenty feet above the ground. On command, protective spells surrounded the duelling area. He gave the mahogany platform an experimental stomp. It held it surely enough, as if it was still on the ground.

‘On the count of three’, resonated a Sonorus-amplified voice, ‘one... two... three!’.

Yuuri fired, jumping up, praying his knee wouldn’t give in. His spell hit Crispino’s shield from above just as her own purple curse flew under Yuuri’s legs. He miscalculated. Crispino held the shield and fired a Stunner directly into the spot where Yuuri landed, and only the sheer force of habit made Yuuri roll over a second before the spell hit the target.

_Fuck, she’s fast._

Crispino was a bit like Potter earlier – she didn’t let Yuuri catch his breath. She shouted spell after spell, not even wasting focus for silent incantations. Yuuri muttered _Protego Pandiculor!_  under his breath, eyeing Crispino as all her spells got absorbed by his shield.

Whatever Potter knew about adrenaline, it was obviously right; he felt itchiness in his fingers he had long forgotten. With a grunt, Yuuri pushed his own curse through the shield, and took a page from Potter’s book, walking closer and closer, firing and firing, until he could almost touch Crispino’s arm. What Potter had said about the woman’s coach may not have translated into Crispino’s duelling style, but it was worth trying.

Only it did. Sara conjured a gust of wind to sweep Yuuri off the platform and into the air, but he parted it with his wand so it returned to her. She swore and hid behind a shield as Yuuri felt anger boil his under his skin.

 _Petrificus Totalus!,_ he struck from the right and feigned to the left, but Crispino responded with a loud shout of an overpowered _Expelliarmus!._

 _And that’s why you make your spells silent,_ a thought ran through Yuuri’s mind. He threw his wand up in the air before the spell got said. It scurried past him, ineffective. Yuuri grinned and lounged into the air, catching the wand with his left hand.

‘ _Stupefy!’,_ he screamed in his mind, pouring all his emotions into the single spell. Casting with the non-dominant hand was harder; and so Yuuri strained his will, letting his magic loose. The spell pierced through Crispino’s hastily brought up protection and hit her stomach with a whish of the red ray.

Yuuri panted through the applause, feeling nothing.

 

***

 

‘You did it, you did it, you did it!’, Minako chanted, grinning so widely that Yuuri couldn’t help but finally smile, too. His scores were lower than in Sochi, but it didn’t faze him. He felt numb, his legs still shaking after the strain of the jump, the muscles of his arms slightly sore.

‘I’m proud of you’, Potter said, quietly. He smiled widely, without reservations, but unlike Minako, the man was not overbearing in his joy. ‘I always knew you could do it’.

They were sitting in one of the antechambers prepared for the competitors; they were not the only group occupying it, but Potter raised a protective bubble encapsulating the three of them, so they could enjoy an illusion of privacy.

‘Here’, Potter said, handing Yuuri a bottle of water – obviously Muggle, the kind you could get from a vending machine. Yuuri didn’t know when the man had time to buy it. ‘Drink’.

‘You were spectacular, Yuuri, I’m so proud!’, Minako babbled. Her enthusiasm – though Yuuri was flattered by it, and a bit embarrassed – made his head throb with dull pain.

‘So am I’, Potter repeated. He held Yuuri’s gaze with slight concern. Finally, he nodded. ‘You’ll be fine. Now, we’re not going to discuss your duel until we get back to Hasetsu. There’s no point. It’s over, and you did great. But now we need to focus on the next task at hand’.

Yuuri nodded, seeing the reason behind his coach’s words. There were still three duels to go. Only then, would he learn who he was going to face.

 

***

 

Of course it was going to be Nikiforov.

Yuuri accepted the announcement without a word – it wasn’t like he could do anything – but inside his mind, it felt as if a spell shattered all his emotional defences.

‘Are you okay?’, Minako asked, noticing his turmoil. Potter turned to them both questioningly, but before she could answer his silent inquiry, Yuuri spoke up.

‘I’m not, but I will be’, he announced. ‘Thanks’.

He should have known the fate would not be kind to him. It was to be expected; Nikiforov had earlier spectacularly beaten a Mexican duellist, Alejandra Rodriquez, coached by her famous sister Emilia herself – and he was now, unsurprisingly, predicted to stand on the podium with a gold medal on his neck.

At least Giacometti had lost his own duel against Russia’s Mila Babicheva, Yuuri told himself. At least there was that.

Where Celestino would be shouting encouragement to Yuuri’s face, Potter remained calm and steady, bringing more comfort than Yuuri thought possible.

‘You’re not going to learn anything new, minutes before the duel’, Potter said. ‘And to be fair, I think you’ve learnt enough’.

 _Does he think he can even teach me anything else?,_ Yuuri asked in his mind. There was no point in discussing it with Potter – it would be Yuuri’s turn soon.Again against Nikiforov, with his silver hair and unforgiving spells, with his sharp spells and sharper words, cutting through Yuuri’s protections like shuriken.

Yuuri hoped Phichit could be there, with them, in that moment. But his friend hadn’t qualified, losing months ago to the same witch Nikiforov now defeated; instead, only Potter and Minako stood by his side and Yuuri prayed that would be enough.

‘You’re gonna be enough’, Potter said. ‘You are enough’.

Yuuri thought, again, that maybe Potter really was a Legilimens – but there was no time to have this conversation now. The platform loomed in front of them, black and unwelcoming like a coffin. With a shudder, Yuuri moved to step onto it.

 

***

 

Yuuri studied Nikiforov carefully. The man’s face was schooled, revealing nothing. Yuuri was suddenly reminded of his own thoughts from Sochi, where he thought Nikiforov a marble statue; now, cold and distant, it was again not far from the truth. Even the blue hems of the man’s robes did not bring any life to his expression.

They bowed – Yuuri felt no particular pleasure in doing so, his lips quirking at the irony of it. Nikiforov’s aloof face taunted Yuuri like a mosquito. So _now_ he was calm, _now_ he was courteous?

Now he’d know, Yuuri thought, now it was time to show him. Potter’s earlier advice about focusing on the moment came to his mind the second the countdown started. Then, suddenly, it was only the swish of their wands, the rustle of their robes, the dance of their feet, the energy of their magic. Neither relied on spoken incantations – Yuuri found a grim kind of joy in countering spells he sometimes didn’t even know, and attacking in kind.

It felt like neither could stop; as if they were both frozen in a dream, in a nightmare – spells flying, shields steadying, but with no chance to win. Nikiforov looked surprisingly tense, and Yuuri realized his own face had to be red and sweaty. He batted away Nikiforov’s curse, tying it to the tip of his wand and throwing away in the move Potter had taught him, and then cast a series of offensive spells.

‘ _Relashio! Relashio! Tarantallegra! Protego! Fuck, Protego! DENSANGEUO!’_

The last spell finally made it through Nikiforov’s shield, but the man managed to step out of its course. Yuuri suddenly felt anger buzzing up in his veins.

Here they were, two duellists, one cruel and one hurt, and Yuuri’d be damned if they didn’t leave the platform with their roles reversed. He fired spells, one, two, three, a shield; one, two, three, a feint, a jump, a swerve, zigzagging out of the way. Nikiforov, incredulously, laughed.

 _You’re taunting me now,_ Yuuri thought viciously, _you’re taunting me again_.

He threw a series of Impedimentas in the sequence he’d long favoured, but it was not enough; maybe Nikiforov’s hair was slightly more ruffled, his face a bit more flushed, but he stood strong and invincible. Yuuri felt something bitter and fiery building up inside him as he advanced, slowly, trying to move past Nikiforov’s defences while keeping his own up.

Nikiforov then tried the trick from Sochi, pushing his Shield forward, against Yuuri’s offensive attack. But Yuuri was prepared. Perhaps Potter had not coached him for nothing – exhaling with extortion, Yuuri let the shield meet him and then pulled on the foreign magic, inviting it, feeling Potter’s voice vibrate in his memory: _Shields are meant to protect, never to hurt. He only won by surprise. Let the Shield in._

So Yuuri did; Nikiforov’s eyes widened as he cut the spell off, but Yuuri was ready, responding with a Stunner which got lost in the whirlwind of Nikiforov’s robe. Yuuri advanced now, a series of spell for his every step, closer, closer, and he could swear through the loud pumping of his heart that Nikiforov let out a cuss in-between his own attack, and then launched back, finally human, not made out of marble.

 _‘Confringo’,_ Nikiforov hissed, casting out loud for the first time, and Yuuri dropped his offensive to shield himself against the explosion of blue light. His Protego Pandiculor withstood the attack, and Yuuri allowed himself a pleased smile. Nikiforov still kept pouring power into his spell, but it meant nothing against Yuuri’s defence. Then the other wizard stopped.

Carefully, Yuuri began to lower the Shield to counter-attack when something cut through the weakened defence like a knife and hit his side. Yuuri froze.

 _The Tickling Charm_ , Yuuri thought numbly through his laughter. _The fucking Tickling Charm. He got me with a Rictusempra._

Curling, defenceless against the spell, he dropped his wand. It fell with a noise Yuuri didn’t hear.

 

***

 

‘It wasn’t the Tickling Spell’, Potter declared half an hour later, once he’d forced into Yuuri another bottle of water. ‘Yuuri, do you hear me? It wasn’t. He modified it. It’s a blend, with Impedimenta, that’s why you couldn’t react. He must have invented it’.

Yuuri didn’t reply. Potter didn’t say it – his voice didn’t betray it either, and neither did his face, but he knew like he knew his all failures that this is what Potter must have been thinking: this was really quite brilliant.

‘Are you ready to go?’, Potter asked once it turned out to be obvious that Yuuri was not going to respond. ‘We can watch the rest of the tournament or just return to the hotel’.

Yuuri didn’t care. It was over for him; he didn’t need to wait for the end of the competition to know that he would never medal with the score he had. He gripped the bottle of water, feeling the plastic squeak against his fingertips, and shrugged. Next to him Minako, uncharacteristically silent, ran her fingers through Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri despised it.

‘Whatever’, he said. Potter sat next to him – it was the same antechamber from before, even filled with the same people, but Yuuri paid no mind to his surroundings.

‘We can skip the ceremony’, Potter offered. ‘Go back to Hasetsu’.

Yuuri hesitated. Was that what he wanted? He failed – that much he knew – but going back early would be a confirmation.

‘Excuse me?’, a voice sounded not so far away, and somehow Yuuri knew it was addressed to him. Potter must have forgotten to shield them away this time.

What a pitiable scene; in front of Yuuri, still in his official duelling robes with blue hems, was none other than Nikiforov – hair not combed back neatly, his face pale again. Yuuri looked up at him from where he was sitting. He didn’t like the obvious height difference, so he stood up, leaving Minako and Potter behind. He approached the man, although there was nothing he’d like more than to Apparate far away.

‘What?’,  he spat out. There was no point wasting his breath.

‘Good duel’, Nikiforov said. For a second, Yuuri could almost believe the man was being sincere; and yet, he remembered the words from before, _this is beneath you, this is beneath you._

Yuuri stared back hard. In the charmed light of the antechamber, Nikiforov’s face was so pale that he looked almost ethereal.

‘You mocked me with your spell’, Yuuri spat out. The words lingered on his tongue, bitter. ‘Don’t mock me with your words’.

Yuuri left Nikiforov where he stood, pivoting back on his foot and returning to Minako and Potter. They watched him, silent, unsure. For some reason, Yuuri felt doubly defeated.

‘Harry’, he started, the name as foreign on his tongue as the intent he spoke with. ‘I want to invent a spell’.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [HQ_Wingster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/profile) made an amazing piece of music for this chapter: [Crossfire](https://joey-wingster.tumblr.com/post/165344476206/an-epic-little-piece-for-keyboardandkaja-their?is_related_post=1)!
> 
>  
> 
> I did more research for this chapter than I'd done for my MA dissertation. (Well, maybe not, but close). So here we go, some things which might be unclear:  
> 1\. The Mari El Republic is real. It's in Russia, and the city Victor mentions, Yoshkar-Ola, is its capital. The Mari people (sometimes called Cheremis) are Finno-Ugric, not Slavic, although there are a lot of Russian living in the area. I really encourage you to learn something about them and their beautiful, endangered [culture](https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2016/dec/21/europes-oldest-pagans-mari-people-ikuru-kuwajima).  
> 2\. Victor's wand has a zmey scale core; a zmey (or żmij, zmiy, zmaj) is a dragon from Slavic mythology.  
> 3\. Irori is a tradtional Japanese hearth. Pottermore says that Floo powder was invented in the Middle Ages. I think it's entirely possible it caught on in Japan during the Meiji period (1868 - 1912), but not enough to build actual fireplaces in the Western style. So, I headcanon that Japanese wizards still favour irori over kotatsu because of the Floo network.  
> 4\. I don't know as much about Thailand's folklore as I'd like, but what I could gather, divination is an important part of Thailand's culture, hence Phichit's knack for telling the future.  
> 5\. Komon, which Minako wears to Worlds, is a kind of an informal kimono. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what a middle-aged Japanese witch could wear if she was going out to see a magical competition. I eventually decided on the komon, but feel free to suggest something else if you have any other ideas! I honestly don't know enough about it to consider myself an expert here.
> 
> Thank you for putting up with the long wait!  
> I'd love to know what you think, so please let me know in the comments, and if you'd like to chat or just witness my (not) spectacular grumbling about writing and other things, I'm on [tumblr](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, it means a lot to me! 
> 
> [Dani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie) made sure this chapter is readable and I can't thank her enough <3
> 
> Trigger warning: heavy angst. If you don't want to read a description of a panic attack, please skip the part that starts with "At night, as he lay in bed" and ends with "Yuuri breathed".

‘Cheer up, Yuuri’, Phichit said mischievously, ‘fifth place is not so bad. And don’t forget about the best part – you didn’t even see J.J.!’.

That, at least, was true. Yuuri, Minako and Harry had returned from Worlds two days before. Yuuri’s determination to learn Spell Creation still flared up in his veins, but the longer he analysed his abysmal performance, the more doubts sprang up in his mind. On their return, Harry had given Yuuri a day off to recuperate, but this morning they both travelled to Mahaukotoro. There, Celestino happily assisted in diving into Yuuri’s memory in the Pensive. Both him and Harry dissected the duels into tiny pieces, and Yuuri felt mortification creep up on him as he listened to all the mistakes he’d made. At last, Harry left him and Phichit alone as he decided he needed a coffee break. Celestino tagged along. Yuuri was just looking guiltily at the door through which they left, thinking how disastrous his performance must have looked to the coaches, when Phichit directed his attention to their Canadian competitor, J.J.

‘He didn’t qualify, I think’, Yuuri replied. He recalled a snippet of a conversation he’d overheard as Worlds. ‘He didn’t do well under pressure’.

 _And I’m going to follow in his footsteps,_ he didn’t add.

‘I never thought I’d say it’, Phichit started, ‘but I’m actually feeling sorry for the douchebag if it’s true’.

Phichit never liked J.J. They’d competed at the same tournament last year, in the same division, and Phichit lost the duel. He usually wasn’t a sore loser, but J.J., with his overbearing personality, knew very little about good sportsmanship and gloated more than Phichit could stomach. Yuuri felt a pang of surprise at the thought that his friend hadn’t known about J.J.’s breakdown – news in the duelling community travelled fast, and Phichit loved to gossip.

‘It’s true’, Yuuri said. ‘The pressure can get to anyone’.

 _Especially to me,_ he didn’t mention. Although Phichit had walked Yuuri through countless panic attacks, it was still not something they talked about often; Phichit had learnt to give Yuuri his space, and Yuuri did not want to bother his friend if he could avoid it. As much as Phichit kept assuring Yuuri that it was not a bother, Yuuri remained unsure.

Now Phichit threw Yuuri a concerned glance but refrained from saying anything. Yuuri was thankful. He had enough on his plate without Phichit mentioning his anxiety. He desperately searched his mind for something they could talk about instead, but it was his friend who changed the subject.

‘Say’, he started, ‘I heard great things about that one spell you can do...’

‘Yeah’, Yuuri sighed, pretending to be resigned, ‘I’ll help you with your Patronus’.

***

Yuuri did his best to teach Phichit, all the while thinking that his friend should have just asked Potter. Phichit had a firm grasp on the theory but lacked the concentration. He gave up his own practice to admire Yuuri’s silver sable, and eventually, nothing came out of it.

‘I’m not a good teacher’, Yuuri said after Phichit’s attempt to chase the sable with conjured butterflies which were definitely not a result of the Patronus Spell.

‘You’re a great teacher, Yuuri! I’ve never had so much fun with Celestino’.

‘This one knows how to relax’, Yuuri then heard. Celestino and Harry returned from their coffee break – Harry was still levitating his mug behind him – and Yuuri felt his back stiffen as Celestino’s words got to him. Was it a jab at his inability to deal with his anxiety?

‘Yuuri’, Celestino continued. His ponytail looked impeccable; next to him, Harry was just scratching his head, making his hair even more dishevelled than usually. For a second, Yuuri forgot his own thoughts and gaped at the contrast between the two coaches, one perfectly well-dressed – the other sleepy, in a loose-fitting outfit. ‘You’re going to have a training session here tomorrow and the day after’.

Harry took a long sip from his coffee mug and grimaced.

‘That’s right’, he confirmed. ‘Easter break is starting. I promised my godson a short trip to Japan, so I’m picking him up from his grandmother’s house. And I’ve got some stuff to sort out before we come back here, too’.

Yuuri blinked. Of course Potter had his own life to think about. The man had become such a constant in Yuuri’s life that it was not difficult to forget that Harry Potter’s life still revolved around Britain and everything he’d left behind. It was ludicrous to assume anything else.

‘Don’t worry’, Harry said cheerfully. ‘I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, listen to Celestino’.

***

It was easier said than done. The next morning, Yuuri Apparated to Celestino’s training facility only to discover Phichit half-heartedly casting the Patronus Charm. Even before his friend finished the incantation, Yuuri knew it would not going to be a successful attempt.

‘You need to focus on your memory’, Celestino advised, speaking out loud the same thing Yuuri was thinking. ‘Choose a memory and stick with it’.

Yuuri threw Phichit a sympathetic glance but left his friend to it, slowly going through his warming-up set of exercises. Stretching on the tatami, he breathed through the pain of his hamstrings. His knee was back to normal, and Yuuri couldn’t be happier about it – but he still found himself more careful than in the past. He was painfully aware that the hesitancy could cost him the precious nanoseconds on the platform that he needed to win.

Yet winning against his own mind was never something that had Yuuri excelled at. Before he battled an opponent, he had to beat his own inhibitions. He thought back to the Calming Draught he had taken in the morning, the aftertaste now absent in his mouth but still bitter in his mind. His next competition was coming up. Yuuri was conscious that both of his coaches wished he would place in it. Still, he kept rewinding his last duels in his mind; one memorable time going so far as to dive into the Pensive on his own, watching out for every little mistake he’d made, and closing his eyes when he got to the big ones. How could they believe in somebody who only knew how to lose, Yuuri had no idea.

Even though, he wouldn’t give up. That would be the ultimate defeat, the cherry on top of the accumulated failures he’d _achieved_ so far. There was no point caving in – Yuuri could make himself miserable after every competition, that was true and certain, but resigning would mean that he’d disappoint his coaches even more than he already had. Yuuri wouldn’t have it. They misplaced their faith, putting their expectations on Yuuri. That only meant he had to keep going, keep duelling, keep failing.

‘All right, Yuuri’, Celestino called. ‘Are you ready? I want you to go through all the spells you’ve learnt from the textbooks I gave you. Then I’ll teach you some duelling moves Potter and me designed with them in mind. You’re going to know them like the back of your hand by the time Potter comes back so he can work with you on some other shit’.

Celestino gestured towards the row of mannequins in the back of the duelling room. Yuuri nodded and stood in front of them obediently, his wand hand resting freely by his thigh.

‘Show me all you’ve got, Yuuri’, Celestino yelled.

Yuuri nodded, raised his wand, and let out a loud breath before firing a spell.

‘ _Ligneus Adsimulo!’_

_***_

Two days passed.

On the third day, against his better judgment, Yuuri Apparated back home, dead on his feet after a gruelling training session. Had Harry been there – had anyone been there – Yuuri would have been scolded for taking the risk, as Splinching was not uncommon among exhausted, reckless wizards. But there was nobody, only Yuuri and his own galloping thoughts.

And so he Apparated.

He landed in front of the onsen with a crack that resonated outside like a firework. Yuuri’s Apparition usually made only a quiet pop; the noise was a testament to his tiredness. The onsen seemed quiet, unsurprisingly enough – the hour was rather late and the patrons would have gone home – but Yuuri could see lights flickering in the windows in the part of the house where his family lived. That’s where he went.

Yuuri had long realized that homes had scents, integral to them and unchangeable; not smells of cooking or cleaning, but something that scented through the walls and into the very heart of the home. Not all houses had it, but Yuuri’s own home did. As Yuuri opened the door, it welcomed him – faintly, comfortingly, like a blanket.

It was late in the evening, a time when his parents liked to talk softly, their voices carrying over from the kitchen to Yuuri’s room, sinking through the thin walls. Mari would hole herself up in her bedroom, content to be alone at last. All in all, the house was almost silent.

But not this time. There was laughter.

Yuuri walked into a softly lit dining room. It was different than during the day. Somebody had lit it gently, charming fireflies into magical orbs of light that floated lazily under the ceiling.

A group of people sat around a low table. Yuuri immediately recognised his own family and Harry, who must have returned some time during Yuuri’s practice, but there were also faces he didn’t know.

There was a young man around Yuuri’s age, maybe a bit taller than Harry, who got up as soon as he spotted Yuuri come in. For a moment, Yuuri mistook him for a Muggle – dressed in a simple black shirt and trousers, he would easily blend in on any street in Tokyo. But then the other man beamed – and Yuuri thought he looked like somebody who was always quick to smile – and his blond hair grew out to reach his shoulder blades and turned into a dirty shade of pink.

‘You must be Yuuri’, the man called, walking up to him and offering his hand in the Western style. Yuuri hurried to shake it awkwardly. ‘I’m Teddy, Teddy Lupin. It’s great to finally meet you! Harry’s been talking about you nonstop, I couldn’t make him shut up...’

‘Teddy’, with an easy smile, Harry interrupted from his place. ‘Let Yuuri breathe’.

He looked more relaxed than the entire time Yuuri’d seen him, other than on the platform. For a change, he was wearing a simple set of robes, the kind that Yuuri thought had to be an European equivalent of a yukata. Next to him sat a woman with big, round eyes and hair almost as light as Nikiforov’s. As opposed to Teddy, she favoured bright colours, greens and yellows. Yuuri noticed with bewilderment that she had her wand behind her ear, sticking out so that Harry kept moving his own head away or he’d be stabbed.

‘This is my friend, Luna’, Harry introduced, as if Yuuri didn’t know who Luna Lovegood was. Harry had never been one to hide his friendships – Yuuri had read snippets of interviews, and then listened to the man talk about his friends with the joy that was absent any other time.

‘Hello, Katsuki Yuuri’, she greeted him now with a wave of her hand. Noticing how she spoke his surname first, Yuuri was pleasantly surprised that she was not completely ignorant of Japanese customs.

‘Come sit next to me’, Teddy cut in as Yuuri artlessly waved back.

Wondering what happened that a guest asked Yuuri to sit down in Yuuri’s own home, he followed a bit helplessly. Finally, he found a place between Teddy (hair even pinker now, and longer), and Mari, blasé as always, but with her eyes keen.

‘Hello, little brother’, she said. ‘How was your training?’.

Harry didn’t add anything, but Yuuri could see him watching.

‘Coach Celestino said it went fine’, Yuuri mumbled. Mari ruffled his hair, a gesture old and familiar.

‘He always does’, she said.

‘Luna is actually here to help with your duelling, if you’d like, Yuuri’, Harry offered. Next to him, Luna nodded. ‘She came here with me and Teddy for a chance to study Japanese magical creatures, and will only stay for a short time, but...’, he trailed off.

‘I’ve heard great things about you’, Luna admitted. ‘I’d like to see them’.

‘Luna is the most creative person I know’, Harry said. ‘It would be a shame to pass up a chance to put your creativity training to good use’.

Yuuri half-expected the woman to respond to that, but she only sat there silently, staring at him. With any other person, Yuuri would feel awkward when faced with a judgmental glare; but now, with Luna, there was no judgment. Suddenly, the tension he hadn’t been aware of left him completely. The smell of food, the scent of his house, the light conversation around him, everything made him feel suddenly and strangely at peace. Yuuri’s mother silently levitated a plate of food over to him. Yuuri realized she must have kept it charmed with a Warming Spell for his arrival. He half-expected Lumos to trot over to him cheerfully but it was well past his puppy’s bedtime.

Yuuri knew that it couldn't possibly get better than this.

Next to Yuuri, his father was teaching Teddy simple Japanese games that parents used to keep children entertained with. He noticed that Harry trailed off again, watching the scene fondly.

‘Teddy plans to run a magical kindergarten’, Harry explained softly. ‘He was really upset when he discovered that non-magical children in Britain learn to socialise earlier than magical ones. He’s been poring over Muggle psychology and pedagogy textbooks since he turned fifteen’.

Meanwhile, Teddy kept giggling as Toshiya walked him through the rules of the New Year game, Fukuwarai. Teddy examined the paper cut-outs that Toshiya prepared with years’ worth of skill, and then tried to imitate the paper face parts with his Metamorphomagus abilities. Mari quickly conjured a mirror to show him the hilarious result, and soon the table broke into laughter.

‘I didn’t know that a bakemono can live outside of Japan!’, Mari shouted to Teddy over the sound of their amusement. Teddy waited until his now crooked nose became pointed, and only then did he reply.

‘Bakemono?’, he repeated, careful not to mispronounce the foreign word. Mari repeated it patiently until he got it right. Teddy beamed. ‘I don’t know what you mean, I’m sorry’.

‘Magical creatures’, Mari explained. Yuuri saw Luna nodding interestedly; she seemed now much more aware of her surroundings than before. ‘We call them “things that change”, they’re a kind of supernatural beings which can change appearance. I thought they only lived in Japan’.

‘Oh’, Teddy let out, deep in thought, but then he shrugged. ‘Maybe I am one, then. But where I come from, they call me a Metamorphomagus’. Suddenly he brightened and his pink hair shimmered. ‘I got it after my mum’.

Fiddling with his food, Yuuri watched as something similar sparked in Mari’s eyes. In a blink, his sister turned into a fox and playfully began chasing Teddy around the room. Yuuri laughed, surprised at his own happiness. Mari would often chase him too, back when she had first mastered her animal form at school.

‘I heard Animagi are more popular in Japan than in Britain’, Luna said dreamily. ‘But I never thought I’d see one so soon!’

Yuuri’s mother nodded proudly.

‘I heard it’s very rare in other places’, she agreed. ‘But it’s a part of our culture. Non-magical people will often think shapeshifting is just a legend, but we know better. Mari is a kitsune, the good kind, not the wild fox which brings trouble. It’s a great blessing that she can turn into the fox’.

‘Are you an Animagus too, Yuuri?’, Harry cut in suddenly. There was something intense, perhaps wistful, in his voice. Yuuri shook his head.

‘I never head the dedication to do it. We can take an extra course at Mahoutokoro but it’s challenging. I didn’t have enough time for it, duelling and all’.

Harry nodded understandingly.

‘My father and godfather were Animagi’, he shared. ‘I always thought it’s a very special skill’.

Yuuri wondered why Harry never learnt it himself if he held shapeshifting in such a high regard, but he wasn’t sure whether it was his place to ask. Instead, he simply nodded, returning to his food. In the corner of the room, Teddy tripped over his own feet, and was now laying on the tatami, fake-wrestling with the kitsune Mari. Harry seemed to shake off his contemplative mood and started calling something encouraging to his godson.

‘I’m happy’, Yuuri mumbled suddenly, surprised at the thought. His mother caught the quiet words and held his gaze with a soft smile.

‘I’m glad’, she said.

***

Happiness passed as soon as it appeared.

It was at two in the morning that Yuuri was reminded how anxiety always came and went in waves, ebbs and flows – and the ebb had just ended. Giving up on his sleep, he went to sit by the window.

Hasetsu was quiet at night – blinking stars made no sound and gave little light. Yuuri hugged his knees, curling his cold, bare toes. He wondered whether it was pointless to go to the kitchen for something to drink. There was a fair chance that Harry would not be asleep either. Yuuri preferred to face the night alone. Feeling defeated, Yuuri resigned himself to grabbing his wand, opening the door, and calling a soft _Accio!_.

He did not want to deal with Harry now. In fact, he did not want to deal with himself either, but from that, there was no escape. Pouring orange juice into a random mug from the kitchen, Yuuri thought how strange it all was – not the kind of overwhelming panic that tunnelled his vision and made all sorts of thoughts run around in his head, but an almost soft, resigned restlessness.

The soothing sweetness of the evening was gone. Yuuri thought back to the way his parents had smiled, to the way Mari acted so carefree, to the way Harry did not look on edge at all. They deserved more moments like this, he knew – just the easy camaraderie without the baggage of worries. As much as he was thankful for it all, Yuuri wondered whether he really fit into all of this, with his mediocre duelling and middle-of-the-road _everything._

He sipped the orange juice. At least that tasted better than the Calming Draught.

Something was off with the taste of the potion Yuuri had prepared himself – it still worked, but he was no Potion Master, and it showed. Just his luck, and maybe that was better – every sip of the potion now reminded Yuuri what a failure he was.

Then, he heard soft footsteps. Mari entered the room, holding her wand high so as to light the way. She took one look at Yuuri and sighed.

‘Oh, little brother’, she said. ‘I thought I heard some noise from your room’.

She walked up to him and put her arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, guiding him gently to the bed. She smelled faintly of cigarettes, a lingering scent that told Yuuri she must have been smoking before calling it a night. Yuuri sat on the bed. Mari followed his suit, all the while rubbing his shoulders in circular, repetitive motions.

‘It’s okay’, she told him. ‘Or it will be. I’ll stay here with you’.

Yuuri didn’t know how long they sat there in silence, illuminated only by the faint light coming from Mari’s wand. When he woke up in the morning, feeling exhausted after the few hours of uneasy sleep, Mari was curled next to his pillow, sleeping in her kitsune form.

***

It was a standard glass phial, the kind Yuuri used to bottle his potions. When it arrived in the mail early in the morning, Yuuri, still groggy with anxious after-sleep, put it aside and forced himself to read the messily scribbled letter that accompanied it.

Not a letter, he corrected himself as soon as he noticed its length. More like a note.

_Thought you might want to take a look at Nikiforov’s moves. The phial is unbreakable but be careful._

_Kick his arse or I’ll kick yours._

The name underneath was signed in elaborate Cyrillic, but Yuuri didn’t have to understand it to know the message could only come from Yurio.

Stiffly forcing breakfast into his slightly upset stomach, Yuuri looked at Harry and then at the phial. The man had already finished eating and was now reading a British magical newspaper that had been delivered from the other side of the world. Sensing Yuuri’s indecisive glance, he looked over and quirked his mouth.

‘Somethingon your mind?’, Harry asked.

Yuuri let himself go through the request in his mind before he spoke it.

‘I was wondering if I could take this morning off’, he started hesitantly.

Potter’s smirk grew a bit wider. He gazed tellingly at the phial that stood on the table, and then at the letter in Yuuri’s hands.

‘If you wanted to watch these, you don’t really need to ask. Take all the time you need and find me when you’re ready’.

***

With a whoosh, Yuuri found himself inside a memory.

The duelling facility at which both Yurio and Nikiforov trained was much more spacious than Yuuri’s own at Mahoutokoro. The small duelling room the Nishigoris let him use could not even compare. A bit stunned, Yuuri realised the chamber was inscribed with protective runes in Cyrillic that he could not decipher. They gleamed with red and gold, both on the walls and on the duelling platforms. Yuuri thought it odd that the Russians didn’t rely on spells to see to their safety, as was the standard practice in the rest of the world. However, their preference made sense: runes did not need to be taken off and renewed every day, and their durability saved a lot of time. Suddenly, he began to wonder why the rest of the world did not follow suit; but maybe it was something vernacular that the Cyrillic only could accomplish, and he knew that many European wizards and witches from the western part of the continent looked down on their competitors from the East. Yuuri himself believed it was a pity the sport was dominated mostly by the duelling styles from Germany, Britain and France – but he also wasn’t sure whether he was the one to change it.

Not that Yuuri felt the need to complain about it – he knew what the sport was like when he first entered it. Yet he could clearly see how many fewer points he would get for a Japanese spell which was just as effective as a French one; how much lower his result would be if he relied specifically on Japanese combinations instead of performing similar ones from Britain. Now it seemed that he was not the only one slightly bothered by it; Russians gave the impression of having adapted what they could, too. Left to their own devices, they stuck to things which felt close to home.

There were five platforms, four of which stood empty. Mila Babicheva, looking exhausted, reclined against one high platform in the back of the room, legs straight, wand abandoned on the dark wooden floor.

From where Yuuri stood, he could see Yurio clearly on another platform, dressed in a light linen shirt that looked traditionally Russian. He stood, angry and tense, glaring at Nikiforov, who faced him at the other end of the platform.

Nikiforov, too, wore the same kind of a shirt. While Yuuri could only see Yurio’s back, he could easily observe Nikiforov’s face and the elaborate embroidery that run down through his chest.

The man looked unguarded, unlike ever before; Yuuri hesitated before walking closer to the platform, keen to catch all the nuances of Nikiforov’s face. There was a teasing glint in the man’s blue eyes and his mocking smirk that lacked the cold cruelty Yuuri would have expected to see.

‘Watch it, old man’, Yurio then snarled in English.

Yuuri instinctively stepped back as the first spells flew, but it was not him who was their target. Yurio, with all his teenage fury, did not bother with shields unless he absolutely had to. Every time he cast a Protego, an offended look appeared on his face, as if he felt shielding was beneath him. He heard Mila shouting something in Russian, the silvery sibilants foreign to Yuuri’s ear. Suddenly, he realized Yurio may have been speaking English earlier solely for his benefit.

He drank in Nikiforov’s style with his eyes. The man was all fluid motion, graceful like a danseur, and completely fearless. There was a sureness to his steps Yuuri remembered well, but the sheer joy he could spot in the man’s angular face was unfamiliar. It made Nikiforov more approachable, more human, even handsome – there was, after all, truth in beauty. For the first time Yuuri witnessed the allure of the man’s skill reflected in the expression of his face.

Yurio was talented; Yuuri had noticed that in Hasetsu and he could see it clearly now, but the teenager was no challenge for Nikiforov. The man blocked Yurio’s spells as easily that even Yuuri, with his eye trained by years of diligent practice, could barely spot his counter-curses. Yurio’s spells seemed to come at random – and then Yuuri thought back to his note and suddenly understood: Yurio was testing Nikiforov for Yuuri, letting him see how the man responded to a range of attacks, to a variety of spells.

Nikiforov seemed thrilled. Maybe it was the novelty of the unexpectedness of Yurio’s spells that brought joy to his face. There were no official sequences, no combinations required by the International Duelling Federation, only Yurio’s new-found ingenuity and fortitude.

‘ _Likho!’,_ Nikiforov hissed suddenly and then Yurio’s face changed. He grimaced and bolted, holding his wand like a dagger.

‘Do you think I’m a child?’, Yurio howled, in English, and then added something in Russian that Yuuri didn’t catch. Nikiforov cackled as mist emerged from his wand.For a second, Yuuri was dead certain it had to be a Dementor; but as the mist morphed into a creature, its shape became different, with a single eye on an impoverished face. ‘ _Mudak’._

Yuuri thought it was another spell he didn’t know, but Yurio simply must have been speaking Russian again. Nikiforov casually lowered his wand – it would be cocky, Yuuri thought, if the man’s posture showed arrogance, but he was simply calm. Yurio tried a kind of stabbing course a few times, angrily hollering _Nozh! Nozh!,_ but the creature came at him and aimed at his neck like a night-mare until Nikiforov casually called it off with a swish of his wand.

Yuuri let himself breathe. It wasn’t a spell he’d ever heard of; was it dark or was it just foreign, like the very place he found himself in, like Nikiforov? But Mila was now cheerfully shouting something in rapid Russian, Yurio looked almost insulted, and Nikiforov was genuinely smiling.Whatever happened, Yuuri was the foreign one here, not the terrifying spell. It was him who walked into a story without a context.

‘ _Yeshche raz, Yura?’,_ Nikiforov then asked. Stomping, Yurio nodded, his blond hair bouncing with the movement of his hair.

Mila started the traditional countdown but Yurio didn’t care for it. He aimed his wand at Nikiforov and attacked him with a gust of wind, only to be blocked. Nikiforov then openly laughed, throwing his head back. Yurio dared a Diffindo that was flickered away like a fly. With a wide smile which took Yuuri aback, Nikiforov took a step forward, raised his wand, and intoned:

‘ _Zhar-ptitsa!’_

‘Are you fucking kidding me’, Yurio muttered, immediately putting a barrier of cold ice in front of himself. Mila shrieked with laughter in the background.

Yuuri watched closely. It was just a memory; but he could almost tangibly feel the heat against his skin as fire burst out of Nikiforov’s wand in a sizzle of sparks. The flame morphed into a bird: shimmering with red, orange and gold and with glowing eyes. Nikiforov watched, a bit smugly, as it dived straight at Yurio’s head, cutting through the ice barrier. Steam rose with a hiss. With an ugly shriek, Yurio swept his wand.

_‘Depulso!’_

The firebird vanished. Without a pause, the duel continued, but Yuuri allowed himself to space out for a moment. The sheer power of the spell blew his mind; up until then, he’d thought that firebirds were only a magical species. He was very familiar with the kind native to Japan, called the Hoo-hoo. While Yuuri had been aware that Slavic wizards had their own firebirds in their countries, it was the first time he’d witnessed a Firebird Charm. How was it possible?

_I’m so lucky I’ve never had to face one on the platform._

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile with admiration at the pure beauty of it all. But then he realised he was reacting positively to something Nikiforov did, and so he let himself drop the smile, slowly.

Finally, Yurio somehow conjured sabres which flew at Nikiforov with a velocity Yuuri was completely unprepared for. Nikiforov banished them all before they could reach him. He shouted something teasingly to Yurio, who replied with an infuriated roar. The duel continued with charms flying, and Russian curses entwining with English ones.

Focusing again, Yuuri took a closer look at Nikiforov. The man favoured his right leg – that, Yuuri had known, but now he paid closer attention to the Russian’s footsteps, automatically thinking how to throw him off. Nikiforov might be the reigning champion, but he was not invincible, and he was not flawless either. He did make mistakes, minuscule things, but mistakes nonetheless: an opening too wide here, a slight misstep there. But all things considered, he was a force to be reckoned with, and a graceful, elegant duellist.

As much as Yuuri despised the man for how he had behaved towards him, he could not ignore Nikiforov’s ingenuity and his gracefulness. The man epitomised what drew Yuuri to the sport: the novelty and the finesse. And he did it all with the flair of somebody who had the utmost faith in oneself.

Yuuri couldn’t _not_ admire that – but great respect could also come with great disdain.

Of course, Nikiforov would beat Yurio – and here Yuuri really had a reason to hate him a little, at least out of sheer loyalty. He stood by idly as the Russians in Yurio’s memory chatted for a while – he could not figure out what they were talking about, but from Yurio’s posture he assumed that some jokes at his expense had been told.

Then, Yurio left the training chamber, walking into a big bathroom, where he was alone. He muttered a silencing charm and then said to nobody, out towards the empty sinks.

‘So now you know what he can do’. It was in Yurio’s fluent, but accented English. Yuuri realized the teenager was addressing him personally. ‘He makes up spells, comes up with random shit, and still wins even if he makes mistakes. Hope you watched closely. I’m not gonna do that for you again’.

***

It turned out Harry had some background in Spell Creation, just like he had some idea of plenty other duelling-related topics.

‘Maybe once you conquer a dark wizard, you don’t know what to do anymore so you dabble in a little bit of everything’, Phichit suggested when Yuuri shared that bit of gossip with him.

Phichit loved chitchatting about Potter. Yuuri felt slightly sorry about the amount of hero-worship the man had to endure even on the other side of the world, but at least Phichit was (usually) respectful about it.

Yuuri had just finished his practice with Celestino. The duelling instructor had left, leaving his two students alone in their training chamber. Phichit for some reason was wearing his silver Mahoutokoro robes even though there were still a few weeks of holidays before the school year resumed.

‘They’re quite comfortable if you don’t do any heavy stretches in them’, Phichit said in his own defence. Yuuri thought he must have been considering the robes as a fashion statement.

‘So no more yoga for you’, Yuuri decided.

‘I can bend the laws of gravity’, Phichit declared. ‘They are for lesser wizards than me’.

Yuuri sighed.

He had hoped that Celestino, too, would have an inkling how to create spells. Only he’d hoped in vain – the man laughed, shook his head, and that was it. Yuuri, who on a whim tried to venture into an entirely unknown branch of magic, felt like his determination was walking away with Celestino.

‘So what does Potter know about Spell Creation?’, Phichit asked.

‘He said he’d experimented a little in Egypt after his retirement’.

That was a strange thought, Yuuri realized. Potter never invented a spell when he was still a competitive duellist – he would simply rely on what he knew and what he could figure out as he went. As much as the man loved surprising his opponents, it was never with original spells, only with original ideas.

‘So what did he say about it?’, Phichit prodded. Yuuri groaned. He didn’t really want to repeat everything – Harry hadn’t given him enough information to call the mini-lecture a crash course in spellcraft, but it was still a lot and he’d preferred some time to sieve through the newly-acquired information before sharing it with his friend.

He also remembered how antsy Phichit could get if he didn’t know something he wanted to know.

‘He said it was dangerous and I’m not to do it on my own’, Yuuri finally shared, hoping the tidbit would satisfy his friend. ‘And that it requires an intricate understanding of the ways of magic’.

‘So, of course, you’re going to experiment at night, unsupervised’, Phichit concluded. ‘By the way, this sounds like a quote from some fancy old book. Are you sure he didn’t just quote his old Charms textbook at you?’

***

It appeared that Harry didn’t quote textbooks simply because he despised reading them. Instead, he took Yuuri out flying (‘I’m not going to talk to you about anything if you’re tense’), and then accompanied Yuuri and Lumos during their afternoon walk to the beach.

At first, Yuuri grew anxious as every minute that passed seemed lost and gone – it could have been time spent practising. But then something clicked; maybe he needed the rest.

Lumos, at least, needed a walk, so Yuuri slowly felt the tension disappear from his shoulders.

Harry sat on the sand, kicking off his Muggle trainers and sinking his feet into the dry sand.

‘I love the sea’, he said. ‘I didn’t get to travel much as a child. It’s nice I can make up for it a bit now’.

Yuuri had no reply to that. He stared purposefully ahead, trying to wish the awkward silence away but having no idea what to say.

‘Back to the spells’, Harry said, and Yuuri sighed with relief. ‘I’m not the best person to explain how to craft spells. I didn’t spend my entire life focusing on that’. He quirked his lips in a bit sardonic fashion. ‘And to be fair, there are probably as many approaches as there are spell inventors. I know back in Britain nobody would try to figure out spells with hieroglyphs but that’s what they did in Egypt. Merlin, I was so lost, I barely even knew my runes, not to mention those’.

‘All that aside, you need to know one thing. It’s the same everywhere, Britain, Japan, Egypt. You need to know the branch of magic you’re doing. The witch who came up with the Severing Spell was a seamstress. It was centuries ago. I’ve no idea how well she knew her magic theory, but she had her profession down and she must have had a very precise idea how the spell should work. Do you understand?’

Yuuri nodded.

‘Are you implying it might be a bit intuitive?’

‘I haven’t the foggiest idea’, Harry said immediately. ‘You might want to ask Luna that. Her mother was a spell inventor. Luna’s the most intuitive witch I’ve met’.

Yuuri resolved to do just that when the woman would return from her adventure – she’d Apparated in the morning to observe magical bears in Hokkaido. Yuuri figured Harry hadn’t been joking when he’d announced Luna was a Magizoologist.

‘On the other hand, it might be just the kind of intuition that only comes with a deep understanding of a thing. An American Muggleborn Unspeakable recently came up with the Caffeine Charm. Have you heard about it?’

Yuuri shook his head. Lumos trotted towards him and put his head on Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri stroked the dog’s fur lightly as Harry continued.

‘It gives you a caffeine kick. And, yeah, I think she took an empirical approach and just drank lots of coffee – but she also researched it, the chemistry I mean. She studied the structure of coffee at a Muggle university, but don’t ask me about any details because they go over my head’.

‘I get it’, Yuuri said. ‘Understand what you want to do and only then figure out how to do it’.

Harry nodded, pleased.

‘Understanding comes first. Always. Then you can make up your own stuff. I’m more practical, myself. Hands-on. Head-first. It was agonising to focus on the theory first. Experimenting with the spell later came more naturally’. For a moment, Harry seemed lost in thoughts. Yuuri didn’t interrupt him, content to let Harry continue at his own pace.

The interval of silence was not unwelcome. Waves crashed against the shore with cyclic persistence, Lumos slept on his lap, and even the chill damp air of the evening did not discourage Yuuri from sitting on the beach. He could do it for hours.

‘A friend of mine’, Harry started. ‘Bill. I visited him in Egypt. He’s a Curse Breaker, but also invents spells... well, curses. I think his profession influenced his ways – he calls it _deconstruction_. Bill looks at all parts of the spell separately, analyses and synthesises, and I never understood it myself but I think he sort of starts from the place where Luna would finish’.

‘You need to figure out what kind of a spell you’d like to invent, Yuuri’, Harry said kindly. ‘Then learn as much as you can. Then experiment in any way that feels comfortable. Find what feels right’.

Harry stood up. Obviously, the lecture was over. Yuuri followed suit, picking up Lumos carefully. They walked back to the onsen, slowly, Harry choosing to go barefoot and Yuuri carrying the puppy.

‘Harry?’, Yuuri interrupted the silence as they approached home. ‘What spell did you invent? You never said’.

‘Oh’, Harry looked taken aback. He glanced at Yuuri a bit sheepishly. ‘A Plant-Watering Spell. I got this one bastard back at home, on the windowsill. I got him from a friend – he’s named Albert, the plant I mean, not the friend. The friend’s name is Neville. Anyway, I always forget to water him and you can just see him going mad, so I figured it would be easier to make a spell that would track Albert’s needs and just water him whenever he wanted it’.

It didn’t take much longer to reach the onsen, but Yuuri spent the entire time in silence, imagining all the easier solutions to the Albert problem than the one Harry had chosen to go with.

***

‘Ms. Lovegood?’, Yuuri asked one day later. Unbeknownst to him, the woman had returned to the onsen in the dead of the night, silent as a mouse. When she appeared at breakfast in the morning, the only unsurprised person was Harry.

‘Call me Luna, Yuuri-kun’, she said. Yuuri didn’t know when she’d picked up Japanese honorifics, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

‘Luna’, Yuuri repeated obediently. ‘Harry said you invent spells?’

Luna peered at him curiously. There was a cup of tea in front of her, brewed the way the British do. She seemed to have forgotten about it. Yuuri had an urge to try and stir it magically like Harry was prone to doing.

‘My mum invented spells’, Luna said, finally. Her eyes were very blue. ‘But I don’t’.

‘You don’t?’

Luna sent him a half-smile.

‘I don’t create spells’, she corrected. ‘They come to me’.

 _Well,_ Yuuri thought, _here goes nothing._

***

‘It helps me to visualise two axes: the axis of the intent and the axis of the realisation. Then I consider their elements separately to see how they work. Once I’ve figured it out, I consider them in bigger chunks, up until the moment I gain the whole picture. Of course, there are also numerous variables I need to examine, so this is a long process. But, when I finally have it, it usually works’, said quickly, by a red-haired man who appeared in the irori, per Harry’s request.

‘Thank you’, Yuuri replied to Bill Weasley, a bit overwhelmed. ‘I think I might have to try something a bit different, myself’.

***

_I want to invent a spell_ , Yuuri had said, but it was easier said than done. After the puzzling conversation with Bill Weasley, Yuuri had Apparated over to Mahoutokoro, desperate to make use of the school’s extensive collection of books.

The library was open to anybody willing to seek knowledge, regardless of the time of the day or whether they graduated from Mahoutokoro or still studied at the school. Yuuri arrived in the late evening, finding the place almost empty. The semi-circular shape of the chamber allowed Yuuri to see neat rows of bookcases on different levels of the room, up until they almost met the light cedar wood roof. Yuuri ducked his head as a book flew past him with a swish, probably summoned by an impatient reader, and wandered off to the section dedicated to spell creation.

He knew what he wanted to create; there had never been a doubt about it. The spell was not something he’d typically cast in a duel, but Harry’s instruction showed Yuuri that it was the ingenuity that mattered. Yuuri had an idea how to put his creation to good use on the duelling platform.

He just needed to create it in the first place.

Maybe it would have been easier if Yuuri had not spent countless moments replaying the brief encounter with Nikiforov in his mind. He would hate to face the man again without an original spell to his name.

Yuuri wasn’t sure himself whether it was the spite that fuelled him to create the spell, or whether it was his constant desire to try and do better, be better, reinvent and reawaken. For a long time, Yuuri treated the short time on the platform as the culmination of the long journey he always set out on. Perhaps there wasn’t anything more appealing than finishing a duel with something which was truly his and which proved, once and for all, who Yuuri was at that moment.

Yuuri sighed; he was passed by a dark-haired witch in golden robes, similar to his own. They suddenly awoke a pang of inadequacy in him, old and familiar like a childhood tune. The spell could show Yuuri and the audience what he could be. It would also ultimately make evident what Yuuri was at that moment – when he first moved his wand in the way that would help his spell sing and fly.

_A fluke._

***

_Hi Yurio!_

_How are you? Please update me on your training. I want to know how you’re doing. Is your cat okay?_

_I can’t thank you enough for the memories. They showed me how much I still have to learn - and so I’m working on an original spell now. It’s tough, though. I’ve just returned from the library and now I’m feeling even more lost. Remember how Harry made us come up with creative ways to use old spells? This is much more difficult. And we thought Harry’s teaching was bad!_

_To be honest – I don’t know what I’m doing or how I’m doing it. It’s hard to admit, but I’ve gained some respect for Nikiforov. Inventing your own spells is exhausting and he somehow managed. I don’t want to fail where he succeeded but I’m getting scared this may end up to be the case._

_On a more cheerful note, I’m really proud of the way you can keep up with Nikiforov on the platform! He’s cruel and rude, but he’s a genius – it will do you good duelling against him, and when you win, I want to hear about it immediately!_

_Give your cat a hug from me if he lets you!_

_Yuuri_

***

‘How was the library?’, Mari asked the next morning. Yuuri was just charming his plates so that they would wash themselves after his breakfast; Mari, who had already eaten, kept looking at him imploringly.

‘Enlightening’, Yuuri answered dryly. He repeated the same thing he wrote to Yurio at night. ‘I know what to do. I don’t know how to do it. I might not end up doing it at all’.

It was the first time he said it aloud, but Yuuri knew deep down it was a possible scenario. Mari tilted her head.

‘Ever so confident, my little brother’, she said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Harry told me how he invented the spell and it didn’t work for me. I asked Luna and Harry’s friend from Egypt, and I didn’t even understand what they were saying’.

‘I don’t understand a lot of what Luna says’, Mari admitted. ‘I wouldn’t feel bad about it’.

Yuuri grimaced.

‘That’s not the point. She’s brilliant, in her own way. But I don’t get it’.

Mari lazily moved to the kitchen counter to fix herself a cup of coffee.

‘They make their spells in a way that suits them. Maybe that’s what they were trying to tell you. You need to find a way that would represent you, not them. Don’t rely on their experiments. Make your own’.

Yuuri stared at his sister; he was suddenly glad they were alone in the kitchen, without Potter, without his godson, even without Yuuri’s parents. Mari smirked at him, but he knew it was her way to show her encouragement.

‘I think I need to see grandma’.

***

Yoshiko Yukimura did not look like a witch who’d be scared off by the chill of the air on a late-March morning. As he took a short walk with Lumos, Yuuri found his grandmother on the way to her old house.

The woman looked much like Mari, slim, with an oval face and short hair, only hers was white like a pearl. She must have just returned from the market – Yuuri could smell fresh fish in the package she carried. Wordlessly, he took the shopping from her and she patted his cheek.

‘My boy’, she said. ‘I haven’t seen you for so long’.

Yuuri bowed.

‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘I’ve been busy’. It was a lame excuse and he knew it.

‘Oh, I’m sure’, Yoshiko said. She made her way to her house and opened the door. For as long as Yuuri could remember, she had never bothered to lock it. Everybody in Hasetsu knew where Yoshiko Yukimura lived, and everybody knew they were welcome to wait for her inside if they found the house empty. ‘I follow these competitions of yours’.

‘Your sister stopped by a couple of days ago’, Yoshiko continued airily. ‘Unpack the shopping, will you? I really wanted fresh squid. You’re welcome to stay here to eat, of course, darling’.

Yuuri knew her house like the back of his hand; his grandmother lived there all her life. He remembered visiting her as a child, learning the basics of Japanese magic, helping her cook. It was easy to fall into the life-long routine again.

‘So where are you going next, hm? I heard something about China’.

‘Kashgar’, Yuuri nodded. ‘Next month’.

‘Next month will come in a couple of days’, his grandmother pointed out. ‘March is almost over. It’s a pity you’re leaving when cherries will blossom’.

‘It’s just a few days’. Yuuri said.

He knew how displeased his grandmother was with his choice of career. She was a traditionalist, and Yoshiko relied on old Japanese spells while treating the Western-oriented duelling with distrust. Yuuri also knew, without a question, that she would help him regardless of her personal feelings, although nobody could guarantee Yoshiko would do it without well-meant grumbling.

Yoshiko was the most astute person Yuuri knew; a miko in her youth, a shaman-priestess who would speak to ghosts and have dreams come true, Yuuri’s grandmother was wise with the wisdom older than herself – older, perhaps, than the entire town of Hasetsu.

‘So, my boy’, she said now, her posture all-business. ‘What do you need?’

‘Grandmother’, Yuuri began. ‘Will you tell me about Japanese magic? I’m trying to invent a spell’.

***

_Katsudon, you blind idiot,_

_if I hear one more time you consider yourself less skilled than Nikiforov, I will steal Nikiforov’s broom and fly to Hasetsu myself to beat some sense into you with it._

_I will hug Potya when he lets me._

***

‘You must not forget _kotadama,_ my boy’, Yoshiko lectured. Hours passed; Yuuri hoped Mari had let Harry know where she was, or else his instructor would be waiting pointlessly for him by the platform. Yoshiko didn’t seem to be running out of things to teach Yuuri. He felt like in the few, brief hours they spent at her house, his grandmother managed to squeeze in not only years’ worth instructions from Mahoutokoro but also any additional information she thought that Yuuri should have learnt by now.

‘Grandmother’, Yuuri started, carefully. ‘I remember about _kotadama’_.

‘You spend so much time surrounded by European magic that I can’t be certain what you remember’, Yoshiko fumed. It was ridiculous; she must have known, as well as Yuuri did, that he would not have graduated without understanding the most crucial concept of Japanese magic.

‘You can’t successfully cast a Japanese spell silently’, Yoshiko lectured, as if Yuuri hadn’t heard this sentence throughout his whole education. ‘Magic is in the word. Choose it carefully. Make it simple. Make it true’.

‘And that’s really it?’, Yuuri asked incredulously, a bit bitter.

Yoshiko laughed; Yuuri remembered this sound from his childhood. It was always a bit dry, but kind.

‘Of course not’, she said. ‘You can’t be this naive. But the rest simply clicks’.

***

_Dear Yurio,_

_Mum wants to let you know that you need to eat properly. Mari wants to let you know she’s listened to some band you recommended to her and she’s going to write you about it soon so don’t send her any Howlers._

_I’m slowly getting the hang of the spell. Do you think I could send you a memory to watch it once I’ve got it?_

_Regarding what you wrote in your last letter, I really think Nikiforov is the best competitive duellist at the moment. Comparing myself to him is pointless – it’s obvious who is more decorated and who has more talent. I think it would be foolish to underestimate him, although just like you, Phichit says that..._

***

Yuuri intoned his spell clearly, pointing his wand in one swift motion.

‘Fuck’, he said louder when it didn’t work.

_***_

After the break spent on researching spell creation, stepping back onto the duelling platform in Yuuko’s shop felt like coming home. Yuuri hopped a few times, testing the sturdy wood beneath his soft leather shoes, already having gone through his usual warm-up. He had no clue what Harry had in store for him today, but the man was smirking with both of his hands casually hidden in his pockets.

So that’s what Harry Potter looked like when he was up to no good.

‘We’re going to do something different today’, Harry announced. ‘You can jump off the platform if you’d like’.

Yuuri did. He walked up closer to Harry, who still stood in front of the door. He looked like he hadn’t stretched, which didn’t surprise Yuuri in the slightest. Apparently the man considered warming-up to be a luxury. Knowing his past, Yuuri could understand that.

‘I’d like you to teach me a spell’, Harry said. ‘A bit of a role-reversal, if you don’t mind’.

‘I’m not a coach’, Yuuri said.

‘You trained with Yurio just fine’, Harry reminded. ‘Will you teach me a Japanese spell?’

Yuuri knew what Harry was doing. With his new-found focus on Japanese magic, Harry wanted to give Yuuri an opportunity to reconnect.

Yuuri was grateful; yet, at the same time, he was painfully aware of the passing of time. It was very late March. His next competition was coming up in April. So much time had been wasted trying to invent a spell that he couldn’t quite reach, and now here he was, unprepared, weak, and running out of time. Was there really a point in turning to Japanese magic if he trained in such a European discipline?

‘Trust me’, Harry said, ‘just one spell’.

‘Okay’, agreed Yuuri. He made sure the protective spells around the room still worked, and then checked the mannequins. Knowing Harry, he’d appreciate a spell he could use in a duel.

‘This may be a bit difficult for you’, he said, carefully, watching Harry’s face. Thankfully the man didn’t appear offended. ‘Our magic is different’.

‘I figured’, Harry replied. ‘That’s why I want to get to know it better’.

‘It’s not like in Britain’, Yuuri said. ‘You don’t just flick your wand and magic happens. That’s why it’s not that popular for these kind of duels. It takes more time and more effort’. He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘It’s a bit like with the Patronus’, he finally said. ‘You need to feel it’s right, the thing you’re doing. And then you do it’.

‘Intention-based spells are not that uncommon in Britain, either’, Harry mused, coming closer. ‘Take the three Unforgivables, for example’.

‘But you associate them with dark magic unless it’s the Patronus,’, Yuuri disagreed. ‘We don’t. Every spell is like this. Not even every spell separately – it’s more like a road? I don’t know’.

Yuuri was not sure how to explain it to an outsider; suddenly he wondered if his teachers at Mahoutokoro felt the same trying to teach their students foreign magic.

‘It’s a road’, he said, with more confidence in his voice. ‘Every spell leads to the next. They have to ring right together. Nothing can be off. It takes time when you cast our spells. Intentions need to be true. They need to agree with all the spells before them and all the spells that will follow’.

Slowly and deliberately, Yuuri explained to Harry how _kotadama_ worked. How spells had to be said simply and efficiently, but with a kind of fine art; how nothing could be silent because magic fed off the gravity of the sound.

‘Japanese duels are slower’, Yuuri finally said. ‘My grandmother, she’s a traditionalist – she thinks what we’re doing here is barbaric. I love the slow urgency of Japanese spells. Only it gets to be too much – you think too much, you start to consider how the meanings of spells overlap and multiply. But at least with this kind of duelling, this is easier’.

Harry nodded. He seemed to understand what Yuuri tried to say; and a good thing he did, because Yuuri had no clue how to verbalise this any better. It felt raw to uncover Japanese magic like this, as if he was putting himself bare in front of the world, even though it was only Harry, with the years of insomnia behind his eyes and uncombed hair reaching his shoulders.

‘Show me this’, Harry smiled. ‘This other kind of beauty that our duelling doesn’t know yet’.

Yuuri smiled back. He stood in front of the lifeless mannequin and tapped into his magic. He imagined the dummy as a demon, a bringer of bad luck; he imagined he needed a good fortune in his present, in his future, and how it will affect the look on his past. Only then, did he draw his wand.

Once he stood calm and sure, he spoke a single word. Yuuri poured his conviction into the sound and into his cherry wood wand with a freely given kodama hair. It was all about freedom, Yuuri thought, the gift of his wand core, the choice of the spell, the intention.

‘ _Hamaya’,_ he spoke. An arrow flew out of his wand and straight into the mannequin, hitting the place where a human would have their heart. As it always was with Japanese magic, Yuuri could almost hear the air sing in response to his voice.

He turned to Harry, who watched the display with a quirked head and a pleased smile.

‘Now it’s your turn’, said Yuuri.

***

_Katsudon, you idiot,_

_Of course I’m eating. But if your mum wants to send me some food, I won’t complain. Her cooking is surprisingly okay._

_I’m sending you an unbreakable phial so you can put your memories of the spell here. I don’t trust you not to forget, with the competition coming up. I hope you’re ready for Kashgar. It wouldn’t do for you to shame the name we both share. Remember it’s not only you that you’re gonna be representing out there. Think of my reputation!_

_I finally managed to hug Potya for you, by the way. I have scratches to prove that._

_Yuri_

***

At night, as he lay in bed, Yuuri’s muscles were stiff. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d blame the intense training session with Harry. Yet, the pent-up muscles felt familiar in a different way. Yuuri recognised the tension of his body before he even realised what he felt; but here he lay, again, anxious under the dark Hasetsu sky, like most of the nights, like many of the days.

He ached for a Calming Draught. Yuuri was acutely aware that there was a phial on his desk, next to his cherry wand, so he couldn’t summon it with a spell. Walking felt like a task he could not undertake. His legs were leaden, or maybe it was his mind that got so heavy and sank through into Yuuri’s stomach so that his belly felt heavy too. Then his stomach sank down to his legs, and now Yuuri was all too heavy – like a stone, like a meteor, like a nightmare.

He was never going to succeed; he was never going to invent a spell, he was never going to go to Kashgar. He was never going to stare into Nikiforov’s blue eyes and be able to show him that he, Yuuri, could win too; that he could be better, that he could be worthy of Mahoutokoro’s golden robes. All Yuuri could do was immerse himself in the weight of his own thoughts and fall down, down, down.

It would be easier if the falling would stop – if he could hit the cold surface of the deep ocean, or the sturdy ground, or even the comforting tatami at home. But with this, it was only free falling.

Yuuri had no control.

Somewhere, somehow, before he was a stone, a meteor, a nightmare, Yuuri had learnt how to fall without hurting himself. He could take a tumble. He used to know how to roll, how to tuck his body in so he would remain safe. Now,

Yuuri was too heavy, too cumbersome, too leaden to move.

Haltingly, Yuuri opened his mouth against the oppressive air. He was still falling, sinking through the bedsheets. But he used to know how to fall; somehow, he remembered.

‘ _Accio_ ’, Yuuri croaked.

It didn’t work. His wand was too far away, and he didn’t even reach towards it, neither with his hand nor with his arm.

‘ _Accio_ ’, Yuuri tried one more time; with an effort, he wheezed louder, his voice dry.

Nothing. Yuuri kept on falling – through the abyss, through the fog, through darkness.

 _‘Lumos’,_ he heard or maybe he didn’t; there was no light, only more weight on his stomach.

‘Lumos’, he heard. ‘Get out, boy. You can hug Yuuri all you want in a moment. Yuuri? It’s Harry. I’m going to sit on your bed. Yuuri?’

Yuuri heard his name. Somebody was talking – Harry, he knew Harry, but Harry never came into his room, and somebody had cast a Lumos but there was no light.

‘Yuuri, can you hear me?’, somebody asked. Harry, he’d said he was Harry, but it made no sense, and Harry would not fall with Yuuri.

Harry knew how to fly.

‘Yuuri’, the voice kept repeating his name. ‘Can you nod?’

Yuuri could, probably. He tried.

‘Good job’, the voice repeated. ‘Yuuri, you’re in your room. Your bedroom in Hasetsu’.

He spoke the name of the town with a foreign accent, like Harry would; was it Harry?

There was no light.

‘Yuuri, I will light my wand now. You can close your eyes if it hurts. If it’s too bright, tell me’.

 _‘Lumos’,_ Yuuri heard again; this time, it was right – light filled the room as it should have done in the first place. Yuuri felt an additional weight on the bed where Potter was sitting, but it was off. Did Harry put anything on the bed?

‘Nod if the light is okay’, Harry said. Yuuri tried. ‘Good job, Yuuri. Your dog is here, Lumos. Do you want Lumos?’

Yuuri nodded. He heard the bed creak and Potter bent to place the dog by Yuuri’s side, then a puppy nose touched his hand; small, cold, and wet. Yuuri grabbed his poodle’s soft, curly fur and tried to hold on to the texture and to the warmth. Harry, he registered, was still talking.

‘Put your hands in his fur, Yuuri. It’s going to help. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to pass. Now breathe, Yuuri. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out’.

Yuuri breathed.

***

Later, once Yuuri breathed, once he drank a glass of water and once his soft puppy nodded off, Yuuri stopped falling. Harry still sat cross-legged in the far corner of Yuuri’s bed, not encroaching on Yuuri’s space, as if unsure of what Yuuri needed.

Phichit – Yuuri needed Phichit. His friend was but a Firecall away. Yet exhaustion crept on on Yuuri and he knew he could not talk to him tonight. He needed to talk; as solitary as Yuuri often preferred to be, he could not face the world alone after a panic attack. Phichit understood. Miserable, Yuuri focused on the feeling of his fingers in Lumos’ fur.

Somehow Harry seemed to get it, too.

‘When we defeated Voldemort’, he started, his voice very quiet, ‘I moved to my godfather’s old place and redecorated all of it, an old townhouse, the Muggle way. Scrubbed the dark magic clean’.

( _Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, had no comment on his private life and future plans. He is rumoured to have moved into the property he inherited from his late godfather, Sirius Black. Our sources say Potter has rekindled his romance with Ginevra, the younger sister of his oldest friend Ronald Weasley,_ wrote _The Daily Prophet_ eighteen years earlier _)._

‘I couldn’t sleep’. They shared a smile. Both of them knew Harry could well have said it in the present tense and it would be true. ‘Neither could Hermione. She was staying with me. She used to find me in the kitchen, reading. Soon we spent almost every night there. I read all the Muggle classics we could get our hands on during the first year’.

(Yuuri knew no newspaper wrote about that).

Yuuri knew, too, that this was not only Harry Potter sharing the intimacies of his life; it was also Harry, just Harry, Yuuri’s coach and maybe his friend, reaching his hand to a person who needed it.

‘I remember there were nights’, Harry said, ‘when I thought I was falling’.

Yuuri’s fingers stopped running through Lumos’ fur. Harry couldn’t know – Yuuri had never said. And yet, here they were: in the same room, thinking about the same inescapable, helpless sensation.

‘It was Hermione who’d taught me that hugs are okay’, Harry said; if he wasn’t looking at Yuuri intently, Yuuri would think the man forgot he was not alone in the room, reminiscing. ‘Back at Hogwarts. It took me a long time to understand why they’re okay, though’, he added, ‘and it took an even longer time after the war to get used to the idea that not everybody who comes close to you wants to aim their wand at your head’.

(There weren’t any newspaper articles about this either).

‘Then Hermione moved out, and somehow, maybe too soon, Ginny moved in. It was great, at first’, Harry smiled, ‘but then I began to study for my Mastery in Charms and began competing in duels. And then, Hermione talked me into completing my Muggle education with her. Between duelling, studying, and taking care of Teddy – once I was fit to help his grandmother take care of him, because that wasn’t a given - I hoped that things would go back to normal’.

Yuuri knew this: nobody in the Wizarding World cared about Harry Potter’s Muggle degree. Yuuri had never heard about it before.

‘Well, they didn’t go back to normal’, Harry said, maybe a bit sardonically. Yuuri didn’t think it suited him that much. ‘Ginny was a professional Quidditch player at the time’, he added. ‘It just didn’t work out for us, that’s all. At the end of the day, we both wanted to come back to a perfect home’.

Yuuri desperately wondered why Harry was telling him this. He knew about his break-up – the entire world knew about it, courtesy of the tabloids. Yuuri may have been just a kid, but even he had heard about it.

Back then, Harry must have been barely older than Yuuri is now, and had already gone through a war, its aftermath, and a break-up which could not be dealt with in private. Yuuri thought that Harry had a right to spiral the way he claimed to have been. Whereas Yuuri – did he have the right to do the same? Yuuri, who had no press on his tail, no duels to be proud of, no previous relationship meaningful enough, no spell to his name?

‘I think we’re very much alike, Yuuri’, Harry then said. ‘Driven, quick with a wand, and fighting even off of the duelling platform’. He let out a short, unattractive chortle. ‘You even have a haughty blond rival who seems to hate you. I used to have one, too’.

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent. For a moment, Harry was smiling at his own memories. As much as Yuuri was bewildered by the sight – what about enmity could bring a fond smile to your face? – it felt good, sitting calmly in the same room, just the three of them, Harry, Yuuri, and Lumos.

‘You know what, Yuuri’, Harry then said. ‘Why don’t we play a round of Exploding Snap?’.

***

The morning found Yuuri still in his bed, tucked in, even though he could not recall going to bed again after Harry suggested the card game.

Usually, it was a hardship to begin a day after a night of restless anxiety, but this time Yuuri felt surprisingly fine. He peeked through the window; his bedroom overlooked a neat row of trees. Cherry blossoms bloomed overnight. They were the one quiescent constant in late March Yuuri always looked forward to, despite the shortness of the few fleeting weeks he could appreciate them in their full impermanence. Yuuri had always admired them the most when the blossoms began to shed.

Before he walked down to the kitchen and grabbed some breakfast, Yuuri took one lingering look at the cherry blossoms outside. He felt oddly at peace with everything – with his anxiety, sneaking up on him in the dead of night, with his own shortcomings, even with Nikiforov’s pale, beautiful, expressionless face.

Yuuri gripped his cherry wand and cast his spell.

Moments later, after taking a full deep breath, Yuuri realised that he had created something beautiful out of spite.

***

‘I think it can be put to use in a duel’, Yuuri suggested. ‘If you overpower it...’

Harry nodded. Next to him, Luna was still eating her breakfast. Other than Teddy, who was half-asleep with his hair pink and down to his waist, they were alone in the kitchen.

‘That’s brilliant’, Teddy said. His enthusiasm did not match the sleepy expression on his face. ‘Will you teach me?’

‘You haven’t seen the spell yet, Teddy’, Harry pointed out. ‘Don’t overwhelm Yuuri’.

‘Good luck, Yuuri-kun’, Luna added. ‘We’d be honoured to be the first to see your spell’.

Yuuri gripped his wand tight; Luna’s solemn tone was at odds with the homely interior of the kitchen, but Yuuri’s own excitement was building up. This was going to be the first time his spell would be shared with the others.

‘ _Sakura no kaori’_ , Yuuri spoke clearly and flicked his wand, remembering his grandmother’s teachings.

For one horrible second Yuuri thought the spell did not work, but then he sniffed. The soft scent of cherry blossoms filled the kitchen, just a bit stronger than the bitter aroma of Harry’s grainy coffee. The four of them sat there together, sniffing and laughing.

***

_Dear Yurio,_

_How are you? I hope you’re doing well! My mum is preparing a package for you._

_Just a quick little note to let you know the spell works just fine. I’m attaching the phial so you can see for yourself._

_Take care,_

_Yuuri_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm sorry it took so long, but it's least it's about 12k words?  
> I got a bit blocked writing this and it resulted in a [silly crack fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11620920/chapters/26129052) , but thankfully it's over now. Chapter 6 is already being written, and I may end up posting it on August 8 before I go abroad. That is, if I manage, although it will be unbetaed then. If not, expect the update some time later in August, once I've returned from my holidays.  
> There are lots of Japanese and Russian terms which may be a bit unfamiliar, and I was worried that I'd run out of the characters here in the endnotes, so I made a [tumblr post](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/post/163747300631/cherry-wood-and-golden-robes-chapter-5-notes) with detailed explanations. Russian culture is much easier for me to research than Japanese because I already know a lot about it, but still - if you catch any inaccuracies, please let me know!  
> Also, I made another [post](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/post/163747481101/cherry-wood-and-golden-robes-ages-of-characters) which explains the ages of characters. Thanks for letting me know it would be useful <3
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and if you'd like to talk, I'm here on [tumblr](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com), where I rant about updates and other things.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

It wasn’t Yuuri’s first time in Kashgar. He’d first qualified for the Cup of Asia three years ago – a stroke of luck on his part, in his first year in the senior division. The Cup had been held in Kashgar just like this year.

Yet despite his familiarity with the Chinese city, he’d been forced to play a tourist by his overly enthusiastic coaches. Both Harry and Celestino accompanied them to the competition – Harry primarily as Yuuri’s support, and Celestino Phichit’s – and both were absolutely delighted to revisit the places they had seen while they were still actively competing. Harry kept going on about a friend from Hogwarts who now lived in Kashgar and worked for the International Duelling Federation. He seemed unusually animated, and Celestino was only too happy to share his enthusiasm. Whereas Phichit, with his usual sunny smile, delighted in sightseeing, the tour drained from Yuuri all his remaining energy.

The day of the contest seemed only marginally better. Harry appeared to have figured out what was wrong and sported an apologetic expression on his face, which only made guilt churn in Yuuri’s stomach. The traditional building where the competition took place buzzed with noise. Harry finally led Yuuri outside, to a garden, where he sprawled on the grass and all but ordered Yuuri to follow.

‘I used to sit on the grass at Hogwarts’, he said, ‘all the time. It’s peaceful’.

Yuuri fell silent. It seemed like Harry often didn’t expect him to answer – his idle chatter would just serve as a way to calm Yuuri down. They both knew it and neither needed to acknowledge it aloud.

It was a good thing Yuuri had lasted through the long and pompous opening ceremony, with his mood being as sour as it was. The first duels had already begun. Celestino had usually preferred it if Yuuri stayed to watch them – that’s why Phichit was still inside and not accompanying Yuuri.

‘You won’t learn anything if you’re not paying attention anyway’, Harry decided instead. ‘So you can take it easy now and it will pay off, or you can drain the rest of your energy and it won’t’.

While Yuuri appreciated the sentiment and the reasoning behind it, he couldn’t help but squirm as hot shame burnt in his chest. Harry may have taken responsibility for Yuuri’s bad condition, but deep down Yuuri had to attribute it to his own instability.

It helped, sitting on the lawn in solitude as if they came to China for a picnic and not a contest.

‘Did you take the Calming Draught?’, Harry asked.

Yuuri snorted. Both Phichit and Harry had repeated this question at least ten times each; Yuuri always answered in the same way. It pained him that they treated him like such a liability, that they had to make sure countless times, that they had to ask at all.

‘Yes’, Yuuri said. That was true. He did the potion; the answer seemed to satisfy Harry and Phichit without fail – at least until the next time they asked – and they never wanted him to elaborate on that.

Because, really, was there anything to elaborate on? You open a phial, drink the potion, swallow, and feel calmer. What Yuuri always forgot to mention was that he’d run out of the prescription Draught and now brewed his own, which failed in comparison. But he would not visit his Healer now, before the Cup, when he knew how risky it was to change dosages.

‘Here you are!’, Yuuri heard. Phichit screamed something from the entrance to the building. He hurried to them, still nimble in his duelling robes. He chose bright red hems, unlike Yuuri, who stuck to his usual gold.

‘I had to fight Celestino for a break’, Phichit said accusingly. ‘By the way, Yuuri, you might want to move your arse over there, it’s getting interesting. And you’re up in like, what, half an hour?’.

Harry laughed.

‘It takes five minutes to go to the duelling hall’, he said. ‘And I’m an old man. Give me a break. Yuuri’s just keeping me some company’.

The glare Phichit sent his way was not impressed. Amused, Yuuri realized how far his friend had come – not long ago he’d be jumping with joy at the thought of glancing at Harry Potter from afar. Now he was being sarcastic towards his idol.

‘Let’s go’, Phichit repeated. He cast a glance at Yuuri, who realized that his friend knew perfectly well what they were doing on the lawn, far from the crowd. He just didn’t want to embarrass Yuuri further.

Yuuri offered Phichit  a soft smile – immediately, his best friend beamed.

Yet as they headed back, Harry and Phichit discussing a duel a witch from Malaysia had just won. Yuuri instead hang back. He spent the short walk to the duelling hall despising the fact that Phichit felt urged to check up on him at all.

 

***

 

‘I don’t know how you can be so cheerful’, Yuuri said, moving to the side in order to give Phichit more room. They skipped watching Cao Bin’s duel so that Phichit could stretch before his own one; and so now Yuuri stressed for them both while Phichit decided the corridor floor was as good a place to run through some yoga poses as any. Yuuri raised a sound-muffling barrier to give them more privacy, but the charm did not shield them from view.

‘I’m about to face the best duellist of our time’, Phichit announced, moving smoothly from a plank to a downward dog; Yuuri didn’t believe in yoga before duels but his friend seemed to find some comfort in familiar poses. ‘No offence, Yuuri, you’re not the best. Yet’.

Yuuri thought of Nikiforov, beautiful and foreboding on the platform, casting spells away as if they were dust.

‘I’d be afraid if I were you’, he confessed. Phichit changed his pose again, specifically so that his head would not be upside down and he could give Yuuri a look.

‘Yuuri’, he said. ‘I’m not expecting to win. I’m not as good as to even pose a bigger challenge. I’m not like you, who could beat him on a good day, if you tried. So I’ll take what I get. It’s just an opportunity to learn from a champion’.

And yet, when the duel began, Phichit put up a fight.

It was painfully clear to Yuuri: as much as Phichit was a good duellist, Nikiforov was infinitely better. His friend’s enthusiasm could not withstand the calculated force of Nikiforov’s spells, nor could it win against the other man’s instincts honed by years of experience.

But Phichit remained unfazed by the obvious disparity. Cheerful as always, was  enjoying himself; as Yuuri watched from the stands, his friend did not behave any differently than he would during a friendly duel with Harry or Celestino, or even a sparing with Yuuri. Clenching his fists nervously, Yuuri could see his friend was pulling the same tricks he had in practice – quick attacks, strong shields,  and displays of agility that Yuuri , too, would be proud of.

Yet very soon it turned out to be clear that Phichit was no match for Viktor Nikiforov. Perhaps nobody realized it before Phichit himself had; where Yuuri would be driven by both ambition and spite, Phichit seemed to genuinely enjoy facing an opponent so clearly better than him. He cast the same spells he would attack Yuuri with in Mahoutokoro halls – colour-changing hexes, simple jinxes, children’s plays.

‘Oh, Phi’, Yuuri muttered.

Nikiforov soon caught on. Yuuri had seen the man compete – he had seen Nikiforov when he gave his best, and he knew, as well as Phichit did, that the duellist was holding back. Yuuri’s resentment, old and familiar, built up in his chest. It seemed so unfair that Nikiforov wouldn’t give Phichit the respect he deserved, that he wouldn’t give Phichit everything he’s got. Yuuri observed the mockery of a duel in silence, suddenly finding himself on the verge of tears. Yet Phichit didn’t seem to mind – he laughed, sending a simple curse straight at Nikiforov’s head. The man rebuffed it with a dismissive move of his wand. Something flickered through his pale face, twisted and unexpected. Yuuri thought about the times Nikiforov’s face had been so carefully blank when the man looked at him.

Then Nikiforov smiled – it was pure and genuine, almost childlike. So taken aback Yuuri was at the sight that he almost missed Nikiforov sending Phichit off the platform with a blast. He still stared, lost in thoughts, as the champion casually strolled towards Phichit and helped him up.

 

***

 

Phichit disappeared after his duel. Celestino went with him, eager to discuss his student’s performance and perhaps talk to potential sponsors and the press. Phichit may have lost, but he did enjoy the attention, and any duellist that had a chance to face Nikiforov could find themselves in the spotlight.

Yuuri thought about it a bit bitterly. In the end, they were all just orbiting around Nikiforov’s bright charisma and radiant talent. And yet he had to be honest with himself – Yuuri was drawn to Nikiforov too, to the man’s inescapable, overwhelming magnetism. Even the repulsion he felt couldn’t prevail when it came to the bitter, grudging fascination.

‘Here you are’, he heard then. Yurio had pushed through the crowd, eager to greet him but stopping just shy of a hug. He had his duelling robes on, complete with tiger prints hems. Yuuri smiled at the sight.

‘I didn’t think I’d get to talk to you before our duels’, Yuuri said. Harry, who had walked away to speak with some other coach, waved to Yurio cheerfully from his place further down the stands.

‘Well, I thought I could spend the break with somebody who had some common sense’, Yurio muttered, sitting down and tugging Yuuri’s sleeve to join him.

Yurio looked like he always did, enraged and determined, but as Yuuri took a closer look, he noticed something fragile hiding underneath the teen’s usual brave facade. No wonder – Yurio was a rookie in a major competition. The only reason Russia even considered sending him was because the country had secured three duellists in the previous year, and Georgi Popovich had to withdraw due to an injury at a moment’s notice. Yuuri twisted his mouth with some sympathy; it must have been hard to debut in an adult competition not because you deserved it, but because you were just a replacement. Yurio deserved better – climbing to the top relying on his own ability, not owing it to Popovich’s bad luck. And definitely not today, when he was sure to be overshadowed by Mila Babicheva’s fierce, bubbly personality and Nikiforov – and Nikiforov’s everything.

Absently, Yuuri wondered why Russia chose to participate in the Cup of Asia instead of entering the European competition instead. The few countries which spanned across more than one continent could always choose where to send their duellists. Not that Yuuri complained – Russia’s decision to participate in Asia enabled him to see Yurio again.

‘You’re not allowed to suck today’, Yurio punched him in the arm; the action was slightly painful but lacked the kid’s usual easy antagonism. ‘Do you hear me? You can’t. I’m not gonna be ashamed to be your friend’.

‘Alright’, Yuuri agreed, his voice more carefree than he felt – but then again, it warmed him to hear Yurio speak about their friendship so easily, without reservations. ‘But you’re going to allow me to discuss your duel with you later, and we can do the same with mine if you want’.

‘Alright’, Yurio said.

 

***

 

Soon, Yurio was up, eager to face his opponent; as his friend left him in the stands, Yuuri could see the teenager talking animatedly to an elderly balding wizard who was his coach.

‘He seems confident enough’, Phichit mused, appearing next to Yuuri. Still bubbling with excitement, he flopped down on the bench but kept fidgeting. Around them, the stands were filled in with wizards and witches as enthusiastic as the two of them. The hubbub of eager voices grew so loud that it pierced through their own quieter conversation.

‘Enough’, Yuuri repeated thoughtfully. Phichit produced a Chocolate Frog from somewhere and began to chew on it, his face assuming a particular expression of bliss. ‘You okay?’, Yuuri asked.

‘Mhm’, Phichit said. ‘I’ve duelled Nikiforov and survived. Can’t really ask for more, can I?’.

Yuuri wondered how his friend could be so calm about his loss – it was tough luck, drawing Nikiforov as his first opponent. Subsequently, Phichit did not make it to the second round.

‘Yuuri’, Phichit called. ‘Stop worrying. I’m a bit disappointed, but I couldn’t expect anything more. I haven’t even finished school yet and Nikiforov is much more experienced. It was my chance to learn. That’s it’.

Not for the first time, Yuuri thought back to his encounters with Nikiforov, the cold dismissal he’d faced back in Sochi and then the flippant mockery at Worlds. In Phichit’s shoes, he would be seething, humiliated and pushed too far. 

‘He’s not that bad, you know’, Phichit said suddenly. Yuuri whipped his head around to him so quickly that his friend let out a startled gasp.

‘Who?’, Yuuri asked, sharper perhaps than he intended.

‘Nikiforov’, Phichit said, even though they both had known without him answering. Yuuri shrugged. He did not want to think about it now, not when it was his turn to step on the platform so soon, and not when Yurio was just about to face Otabek Altin.

There couldn’t be a more different pair. Yuuri had always respected Altin’s stoic strength and his quiet determination. Yurio, though, was always quick as a flame and easy to scorch with his spells; this duel was no exception.

Yurio, oddly enough, had an advantage – nobody had expected Popovich to resign, and so Yurio, freshly out of juniors, still was relatively unknown. It was possible some of the duellists had failed to look him up. He seemed to realize it, relying on force and speed.

Next to Yuuri, Phichit cheered loudly as Yurio lunged forward and attacked Altin with an impressive Blaster. The other man blocked it with a short wave of his wand, and began firing spells in quick sequences. Yuuri watched, mesmerised.

‘He’s good, isn’t he?’, Phichit asked. Yuuri nodded, aware that his friend wouldn’t see the gesture – they both couldn’t glance away from the duel if they tried. Yuuri knew his coaches were watching the performance together somewhere in the stands. He was sure Potter was going to make them dissect Altin’s technique when they return from Kashgar.

‘ _Nozh’,_ Yuri snarled then. The spell cut through the air. Faced with Yurio’s knives, Altin casually vanished most of them and redirected the last so it attacked Yurio with angry, stabbing movements.

‘They’re awfully fond of this spell’, Yuuri said.

‘Yikes’, Phichit answered.

‘That’s eloquent’.

‘Shut up’, Phichit said. ‘What’s your problem, people? First you with that Japanese arrow spell, now Yurio with his Russian knives. What’s so fun about weapons that you use them in these duels? If I wanted a knife fight, I’d train another sport’.

Yuuri shrugged again. Phichit had a different approach to duelling. Yuuri saw nothing wrong with using magically conjured weapons as long as the duel didn’t lack elegance; Phichit preferred to avoid Transfiguration in general if he could.

He didn’t want to argue with Phichit now; he also didn’t think they would argue seriously anyway. Phichit’s words were more humorous than venomous, despite their harshness, and Yuuri knew that at the end of the day, they both just wanted to witness beauty.

Suddenly, Yuuri caught a flash of white in front of him. Nikiforov was in the stands, looking thoughtful. He watched the duel as Yuuri watched him: the man appeared calm and serious, but unlike so many times before, now he did not look unapproachable and distant, as if carved out of marble. Yuuri suddenly wished to be capable of this serene calm; his own nerves made him fidgety. The sensation only intensified with every passing moment.

‘Yes!’, Phichit suddenly shouted. ‘You go, Yurio!.

Yuuri hastily looked at the duelling platform. Yurio, angry and entirely too small against the snowstorm that Altin attacked him with, managed to conjure a wall of fire. It was not as impressive as Nikiforov’s firebird, but it got the job done – the snow began to melt. Yurio grinned, directing the attack towards Altin, but then the spell flickered like a flame in the wind and fizzled out.

‘ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ’, Altin shouted, wasting no time. Yurio froze and fell, unable to move.

‘He lost’, Yuuri said. ‘He’s gonna be so pissed off’.

 

***

 

As Yuuri’s own duel approached, he found himself next to the area where the judges sat. Harry steered him gently towards the entrance to the arena. Yuuri pushed through the crowd, keen to ignore the stares that the audience sent their way. He was sure they were all looking at Harry, not at him, but for once anonymity gave him no comfort. Bitterly, he glanced at the golden hems of his robes, wondering what good they were if he could pass by the spectators unrecognizable. Where gold at Mahoutokoro stood for the highest honours, here it just disappeared in the crowd.

Yuuri thought it suited him well.

Harry led them to the spot near the entrance, next to some of the Russian duellists. Yurio, who had just left the platform, did not notice Yuuri – he faced a balding man who had to be his instructor. Next to them stood Nikiforov.

Yuuri did not mean to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Nikiforov was standing close to Yurio, looking as if he wanted to throw his arm around the teen’s shoulders but knew it wouldn’t be well received. Yuuri thought suddenly that the man behaved as if he was talking to a spooked animal, calm and soft; it was so strange an image that he snorted.

‘You okay?’, Harry asked.

Yuuri simply nodded. He glanced back at Nikiforov – the man’s pale face lacked the carefully schooled indifference than Yuuri remembered so well. Absent was any malicious snarl that Yuuri expected to see. Nikiforov wasn’t smiling, but the gentle way he interacted with Yurio made Yuuri pause.

He thought back to the Nikiforov he remembered: beautiful, haughty, and aloof, and holding Yuuri in unfathomable contempt. Old anger flared in his stomach; this new face of Viktor Nikiforov, suddenly so kind and cordial, only reminded Yuuri of Sochi.

Yet Yuuri couldn’t help but think how this friendliness transformed Nikiforov. Even though he still wore his duelling robes, the man did not look like the unapproachable hero from the platform.

Then Nikiforov noticed him; it was just a moment, but Yuuri could swear their eyes locked. Something indescribable flicked through Nikiforov’s face. Yuuri stared back.

 _I’m gonna be better,_ he thought.

 

***

 

From Yuuri’s experience, the moment he stepped onto the platform, the perspective shifted – his surroundings grew much duller, his instincts much sharper, and his sole focus was on his opponent. He had seen many other duellists behaved in such a way, which was why he blinked with surprise when Mila Babicheva grinned and waved at him cheerfully the moment they stood face to face. The hems of her black duelling robes were pink; they looked as friendly as her face when she waited for the countdown to start. He wondered how it was possible to remain so unperturbed seconds before the duel. Yuuri himself was ready to bolt. He took a deep breath and forced himself to tense his muscles, then relaxed them, consciously, one by one, just in time for the countdown to begin.

 _Depulso!,_ Yuuri thought, taking a lunge forward. He followed the spell with a sequence of three Stunners and then moved forward, relentlessly, casting Stunners and Banishing Charms in turns. He did not bother to block Babicheva’s attacks. Creative though they were, Yuuri wasted no time with Shield Charms, not when he could jump out of the way.

It felt almost as dancing, if dancing could be deadly; there was something raw about the duel, and Babicheva had to sense it, too – soon her grin disappeared, replaced by a tight grimace on her face.

Yuuri, though, wanted to grin, wanted to laugh – it was liberating to attack like this, to lure her into thinking he was falling into patterns until she felt safe. Yuuri was still approaching in the rustle of robes and the patter of footsteps, falling into his sequences, forcing Babicheva to think he was going predictable, to think that she had him. And Yuuri let her think that, let her feel powerful – in that moment, power was everything and power was Yuuri’s as he screamed.

‘ _Lumos’,_ he hollered, pushing all his magic into the spell.

Even though he closed his eyes, Yuuri could see the glaring whiteness that set the duelling hall alight. In that moment, Yuuri’s world was incandescent. _This is what it’s like inside a light bulb,_ he let himself think idly. The spell, though incredibly strong, lasted just a few seconds. Not wasting time, Yuuri blindly cast another Stunner and cushioned Babicheva’s fall.

The afterimage of the spell still bright under his eyelids, Yuuri made his way towards the other duellist. Babicheva lay on the platform, both of her hands covering her face. Yuuri noticed her fingernails were painted pink, in the fashion Muggles were fond of.

‘I’m sorry’, he said. ‘Please, let me help you up’.

Babicheva blindly reached her hand. Yuuri grabbed it and pulled her up. She looked at him, a bit dazedly, and gave him a lopsided smile.

‘Great duel’, she said, trying to blink away the unpleasant sensation. ‘I didn’t expect it to end this way, though’.

‘I’m sorry’, Yuuri repeated.

‘Are you sorry that you’re a better duellist than me? Stop it’, Babicheva said. ‘You deserve this win. I never thought you could overpower this spell so much... How strong are you, really?’.

‘Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, but Babicheva didn’t seem to expect a reply.

‘That was awesome’, she just said. ‘No wonder Yurio wanted to train with you’.

She hopped off the platform without his help. The light must not have blinded her too much. Yuuri let himself breathe with relief that he did not hurt her after all.

Mila Babicheva turned around one last time.

‘Great duel!’, she shouted.

 

***

 

‘I know we were gonna discuss our duels’, Yurio began, stubbornly not looking anywhere in Yuuri’s direction, ‘but if you mention my performance now, I’ll hex you into next month’.

Yuuri nodded. A second passed, then another.

‘So’, he said, carefully, ‘have you seen any nice cats recently?’.

 

***

 

Yuuri woke up the next morning in the hotel room he shared with Phichit. The elation he felt after the duel with Mila Babicheva faded during his meeting with Yurio; and overnight, Yuuri’s anxiety returned, so sneaky that it felt almost soft. At night, Yuuri had thought it was not severe enough to warrant waking Phichit up. Now, as he stared into the mirror, he realized it might have been a mistake.

‘You look like shit’, Phichit confirmed, appearing next to him. He still had toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

‘And that’s what I feel like’, Yuuri mumbled.

Phichit took a closer look at him and made a face. Yuuri knew what he was going to say. It didn’t mean that hearing it got any easier.

‘You should’ve waked me up’, Phichit told him. ‘We’ve been through this, Yuuri’.

‘I know, Phi’.

‘We can talk about it later’, Phichit sighed. ‘Do you need your potions?’.

Just thinking about the Calming Draught made Yuuri feel the aftertaste of the potion on his tongue. The taste was too bitter, like his failures.

‘No’, he said. ‘I can manage’.

 

***

 

Nothing in Yuuri’s life was easy, so when the time came for the second round of the Cup of Asia, Viktor Nikiforov was announced as his opponent.

‘Well, that’s interesting’, Celestino mused somewhere behind Yuuri, his booming voice cutting through the exciting buzz of conversations that rose after the announcements.

Through his numb stupor, Yuuri registered Harry’s tentative half-embrace. The man gently steered him away from the crowd, into an antechamber that was thankfully almost empty.

‘Yuuri’, he said. ‘Do you want to talk?’.

Yuuri shook his head. What was there to say? He’d never beaten Nikiforov before – he’d never _not_ made a fool of himself in the man’s presence, and he’d never got anything other than abject disdain in return.

‘We don’t have any time for a practical prep talk’, Harry continued, his voice laced with mirth. Yuuri recalled the surprise duel Potter had once accosted him with. ‘But you know who he is, you know what he is, and you know how he fights. Yuuri – think what you want from this duel. Then go and get it’.

Harry patted his arm, a bit awkwardly. He waited patiently by Yuuri’s side; Yuuri gratefully took time to gather his thoughts and breathe until his mind became less foggy. Harry’s words resonated with him more than Yuuri was ready to admit – deep down, he knew what he wanted: even during the most intense moments of doubts, this was the one thing Yuuri was sure of.  He thought about all the instances he had a brush with Nikiforov’s contempt.

‘I want to win’, he just said.

 

***

 

The blue hems of Nikiforov’s robes stood out as the only vibrant thing about him. As the man waited on the duelling platform, still and almost ghastly pale, Yuuri again got startled by the dichotomy – the difference between the compassionate man from before and the detached duellist he could see now was striking.

Yuuri hadn’t had the time to plan his duel, but his earlier frantic analyses of the man’s style gave him more insight than any last-minute preparations could. He had little doubt that victory would not be a piece of cake – not against Viktor Nikiforov. Yet as he stared down at the man, Yuuri’s mind came to a halt. He realized the ashen colour of the man’s face might be a mask, a costume, just like their robes with golden and blue hems. Yuuri could try to crack whatever was underneath, to pierce through it with his spells.

Maybe this was what it took to win, Yuuri thought, maybe he had to crack his opponent open, pour the magic out like water or like blood.

Duelling was a violent game; Yuuri had always tried to slip into it gestures of kindness, to restrain himself before it all become overbearing and he’d lost whatever control he had. But he now took Potter’s approach for what it was – there was, truly, only the present, and the platform was everything. Nikiforov’s stoic presence might have been a construct of his own defences, just like the limitation Yuuri’d set on himself – perhaps strengthened by the man’s personality, perhaps coming from a different source that Yuuri would never know. He knew just one thing now, a thing he had only comprehended logically before but had never really felt.

Viktor Nikiforov was as human and flawed as Yuuri himself – and that meant he could be beaten.

Yuuri aimed to do just that – with his heart, with his mind, with every fibre of his body.

 _Confringo_!, he thought, sending the course Nikiforov’s way, following by his favourite series of three Impedimentas only to block Nikiforov’s attack with a strong shield.

In his duel with Babicheva, Yuuri danced on the platform with no abandon, jumping out of the spells’ way. He expected Nikiforov must have noticed – and so this time, Yuuri stood firmly in one place, mindful of the training he’d been forced to go through while recovering from the knee injury that rendered him immobile. He hoped it would momentarily throw Nikiforov off balance.

It seemed to be working. Yuuri advanced in sequences of flashy curses, blocking Nikiforov’s spells on pure instinct, falling into the familiar rhythm of advanced spellcasting. He was waiting for an opening – he now knew, thanks to Yurio, how Nikiforov always left himself defenceless for a few precious milliseconds after casting an Expulso.

 _Fuck it,_ Yuuri thought, blocking the man’s overpowered Stunner, and conjured a rock that he sent straight towards Nikiforov’s head.

It worked. The man moved into the familiar pose and cast an Expulso to destroy it.

And Yuuri was ready.

 _Ligneus Adsimulo,_ he thought urgently, sparing the curse a glance. Nikiforov’s Expulso sent the debris Yuuri’s way – he sent the rocks back, Transfiguring them into fireballs, suddenly recalling the man’s ability to cast the Firebird Charm.

Yuuri’s spell hit Nikiforov precisely in his left arm; Yuuri aimed for his right hand but the man must have shifted. For a second, the duellist stilled – Yuuri wasted no time casting a Diffindo as Nikiforov’s left arm slowed him down.

The man banished the fire and avoided the curse but his left arm remained wooden and heavy. There was no time to Transfigure it back and Yuuri knew that.

‘ _Nozh’,_ Nikiforov snarled then, not bothering with silent casting anymore, and Yuuri wanted to laugh, it was so ridiculous, so absurd to hear this spell coming from Nikiforov’s mouth when he identified it so strongly with Yurio. He blasted the knives off and responded in kind.

‘ _Hamaya!’,_ he intoned clearly.

That was the thing with Japanese spells: they surprised your opponent only once, for the first time. The necessity of spoken incantations weighed heavily on every duellist. Yuuri hated how much slower it was, especially against Nikiforov’s quick, efficient attack that took a lot of effort to block.

Yet the casting might be slow – the arrows Yuuri sent at Nikiforov were not. Without a thought, Yuuri followed with a fire spell, aiming at Nikiforov’s wooden arm.

The arrow hit the target with a thud.

Yuuri sent a Stunner to be sure, but Nikiforov stepped aside without glancing its way. It flew past him and hit the barrier of protective spells as the man, almost nonchalantly, stuck his wand into the flame that spread onto his entire arm.

 _He’s mad,_ a thought run through Yuuri’s mind, _he’s gone mad._

Yuuri directed a frantic _Aquamenti!_ at Nikiforov, but the man batted the spell away as if it was a fly. He looked straight at Yuuri and raised his wand, its tip burning bright like a beacon. Yuuri forgot his training; he lunged forward to stop Nikiforov. The man just made a long throwing motion with his wand, dispassionate even as flames slowly consumed his arm.

It lasted but a second. The fireball took to the air, only to grow into a shape Yuuri had already seen.

‘No’, he said, moving frantically back. ‘Yurio’, he added. Yurio had done something to banish the firebird. Yurio had shown him.

The firebird spread its glowing wings. A sudden wave of heat grazed Yuuri’s face. It singed his hair.

He staggered back.

 _Depulso,_ he thought, it was a _Depulso, Depulso, Depulso,_ but the firebird still hovered above Yuuri like a dragon. He could not breathe in the scorching hot air. The firebird taunted him, not attacking, just waiting for Yuuri’s collapse, for his mistake, for his own mind to fail him – just like Nikiforov himself always did. Yuuri could not see the man. He suddenly realized the firebird resembled an extension of the duellist, both burning, both mocking, both deathly beautiful.

Yuuri took a deep breath, feeling his lungs burn, and stuck his wand into the air, just under the firebird’s underbelly, where its soft fiery feathers blazed with heat.

‘ _Depulso’,_ he howled, hearing his voice crack, pouring all his magic into this one word, like he had always done with Japanese spells, like he had always avoided doing.

He took a few faltering steps towards Nikiforov, who now lay on the platform and panted through the pain. But Yuuri stumbled down before he reached the man.

He lost the grip on his cherry wand.

The firebird was gone.

 

***

 

Yuuri’s Mahoutokoro robes, bright and golden, made him look like a clown.

Thankfully, Harry did not take a leaf out of Celestino’s book. He did not parade Yuuri around, boasting in front of sponsors. Yuuri was thankful for small mercies. The post-competition banquet was held in a spacious yet crowded chamber, filled with gentle music. Yuuri recalled how unenthusiastic he had been about sight-seeing in Kashgar, but now he thought that escaping into the city sounded perfect.

‘I know you don’t want to go’, Harry had told him bluntly. ‘But you kept yourself to yourself the Sochi banquet and you need to have a good image. I’m sorry, Yuuri’.

Harry had not mentioned the duel. Yuuri knew they would discuss it later, as usual, just like he knew he’d have to talk to the sponsors at some point. But for now, Harry left him alone with his thoughts.

Yuuri was not sure whether to be thankful for it or not. The duel left a bitter taste in his mouth, not unlike the Calming Draught. The burn on his face still tingled, even after the Healers had applied a balm on it; but it was self-reproof that hurt much more.

Yuuri had known he played a dangerous sport. There was nothing gentle about duelling. While Yuuri had once used the analogy with kendo to explain the discipline to his non-magical father, it was in fact infinitely more dangerous than fencing. Yuuri had never enjoyed inflicting pain. For as long as he’d been training, he’d been doing his best not to hurt his opponents.

He wondered what Luna would say – Luna, who’d talked to him about magic with tender wonder and who treated both humans and creatures with the innate kindness Yuuri himself seemed to lack. He was happy the woman hadn’t been there to witness his failure – and he didn’t even want to think about his grandmother or Teddy Lupin’s disappointed face. He felt lucky the teenager had returned to Hogwarts just before the competition and didn’t witness Yuuri’s moral spine breaking under the fire of spells.

It all crumbled with the duel. Try as he might, Yuuri could not blink away the image of Viktor Nikiforov standing tall in flames, showing none of the fragility that sneaked into Yuuri’s heart. It was still too raw, and the scorching pain had yet to fade away, but Yuuri knew one thing – something had broken in him on that platform, rendered him helpless, defenceless and bared.

‘It was a good duel’, Yuuri heard someone say. ‘Congratulations on your silver. And thank you’.

It was Nikiforov.

When Yuuri had tried to reach the man on the platform, Nikiforov was panting, his face the colour of ashes. He hadn’t seen the man afterwards. Yet know he was transformed – gone was the exhaustion on his face and the horrid burn on his left arm. He was wearing a simple outfit – a linen white shirt with geometric hems, similar to what Yuuri had seen in the Pensieve. Unlike Yuuri, whose wand was tucked safely in an arm holster, Nikiforov kept his worn on a leather belt.

Yuuri noticed with a pang of guilt that Nikiforov’s left arm was still in a sling. Yet the man himself did not seem to be bothered. He’d draped a dark red robe over his shoulders and was holding a glass of wine in his right hand. Yuuri realized it had to be the traditional Kashgar wine that was apparently being served at the banquet – suddenly, he wished for a drink, and it was in that moment of desperation that he noticed he’d been staring.

‘It was the first time in months that I had fun’, Nikiforov told him. An orb of charmed light floated above them, reflecting in the glass wine. ‘I wanted to thank you’.

The orb floated away. Yuuri blinked, once, twice, before he remembered how to speak.

‘Thank me’, he repeated.

‘Yes’. Nikiforov grinned. There was something boyish about his smile – it lit up his pale face the way the orb of light hadn’t. For the first time, Yuuri noticed how blue were the man’s eyes. ‘The way you duel – it’s incredible’. Suddenly, he faltered and the joyous expression on his face dimmed a bit. ‘I just wanted to congratulate you, that’s all’.

‘Congratulate me’, Yuuri repeated. He did not understand. ‘But you won’.

It was true. The duel had been announced a draw, but since Nikiforov had scored higher in his previous round with Phichit than Yuuri in his fight against Babicheva, the Russian became the winner one more time. Yuuri thought bitterly how the newest victory epitomised Nikiforov’s name – and how Yuuri’s own golden robes felt like a joke while his heavy silver medal shone on his chest.

The conversation eerily resembled their previous encounter, when Nikiforov had come to Yuuri to mock and to boast. Yuuri realized, not without bitterness, that the man was as cruel outside of the duelling platform as Yuuri had been on it.

‘Winning’, Nikiforov grimaced. Something ugly flickered on his face, but before Yuuri knew it, the man arranged his expression back into the careful facade he so often showed to the world. ‘Winning doesn’t matter. Beauty does’.

Yuuri wondered if he could just turn on his heel and leave the banquet room. Or better yet, grab Nikiforov’s almost full glass of wine and gulp it down. To hear Nikiforov downplay his gold medal felt like a cruel joke, especially now that he’d beaten Yuuri again – but it was the remark about beauty that sparked a fire in Yuuri’s chest.

He knew with perfect clarity that he’d been a ruthless, callous opponent. But for the man to come to Yuuri and gloat, to pretend Yuuri had done something _beautiful –_ that was the kind of malice he would never understand.

Although he wanted to spit out something like he had done before, Yuuri knew he had caused enough damage. The banquet chamber was filled to the brim with duellists, their coaches and International Duelling Federation representatives. It wouldn’t do to make a scene.

Nikiforov was waiting for Yuuri to reply. The expression on his face changed again – Yuuri could not interpret it, just like he could not understand the man who stood in front of him, but he thought there might be something strangely hopeful and gentle about it.

It didn’t matter. Yuuri thought longingly about the Kashgar wine he would drink as soon as he got rid of Nikiforov.

‘Congratulations’, Yuuri finally settled on saying. ‘If this is the kind of duels you seek, I’d be happy to deliver’.

Fucking up was all he was good at, anyway.

 

***

 

Yuuri lingered around the banquet table, idly sipping a glass of wine. He desperately wished it would be a phial of the Calming Draught instead, but alcohol had to do. He’d escaped from Nikiforov and run straight into Harry, who dragged him into a slow dance of niceties with potential sponsors. Yuuri’d expected them to fawn over his coach and ignore him completely, but to his astonishment, most of them had been carrying on about his duel with Nikiforov – as if _that_ was something Yuuri should be proud of.

And Harry had praised him, looking pleased. He now stood nearby, talking to the same Hogwarts friend he’d mentioned before; Yuuri silently listened to their conversation. They had included Yuuri in it, but he felt too exhausted to talk. The woman, who’d introduced herself as Cho Chang, directed her attention from Yuuri to Harry and kept inquiring about his personal life.

‘No’, Yuuri heard Harry answer at some point, his voice just a tad louder than the music, ‘we parted our ways’. The confession was followed by an awkward ‘I don’t stay in touch with him anymore’. Yuuri considered how it could be him one day, forced to discuss his private life out in the open, and felt almost as disgusted with the concept as he did with himself.

Yuuri just wanted to Apparate back home and hug his dog.

Thankfully, at least Celestino’s attention had been on Phichit; out of their two coaches, Harry was much less overwhelming and realized when Yuri desperately needed a break, and when he merely wished for one. Celestino, although a competent instructor, had only recognized the latter.

Yuuri had sneaked a bit further away the moment he safely could, and now kept himself to himself, waiting for Phichit to finish his own round of talking with sponsors. He’d hoped to chat with Yurio, too – but Yuuri had spotted his friend glaring daggers at Nikiforov, who’d been talking to him. He decided to was safer to stay away from them both.

‘You’re looking as if you’re willing yourself to disappear’, a voice cut through the soft music. Yuuri turned towards the voice. It was Mila Babicheva, clad daringly in what looked like a Muggle black suit. Her fingernails were still painted the same shade of pink as during their duel.

‘Maybe I am’, Yuuri said. Babicheva gave him a searching look.

‘I’m Mila’, she stuck her hand out. ‘Nice to meet you properly’.

Yuuri shook her hand, mumbling something back. Alcohol had yet to kick in; he felt awfully awkward.

‘Congrats on the silver’, Mila grinned. ‘No hard feelings about my loss, you won fair and square, Yuuri. Altin deserves his third place too’. She eyed the neat row of wine glasses on the table and picked one of them.

‘I hate these banquets’, she said, bluntly, then gave him a smirk. ‘You’re so quiet, Yuuri Katsuki. You only speak on the platform, don’t you?’.

‘Or when he’s getting wasted’, Phichit suddenly chimed in, ‘which is happening now, isn’t it? Hello, Mila, I didn’t know you two knew each other’.

Mila grinned, again; Yuuri thought she had to be a person who did that often.

‘Duels bring people together. It’s the first time we’ve competed against each other’.

Phichit nodded. Yuuri recalled his friend had duelled against the Russian witch before, but he had no idea the two kept in touch. He took a sip from his glass, content to hang back and listen to their easy bickering. The Kashgar wine had finally kicked in, much more pleasant than the Calming Draught could ever be. Yuuri let himself relax. His eyes trailed after Nikiforov, who had now moved on to talk to an elderly witch. The man’s low ponytail shimmered in the light of floating charmed orbs.

Mila noticed Yuuri’s gaze. She took her wand out of the pocket of her trousers and casually summoned one ball of light, soon turning it into an animated red bird, small like a swallow. Yuuri realized it looked like a tiny firebird. Milla took an aim and set it on Yurio.

‘Your duel was something’, she said, smirking mischievously as Yurio vanished the bird angrily. ‘Viktor can’t shut up about it and I’m not surprised. Witnessing something like this... you two were incredible. You impressed him, Yuuri. That’s not an easy feat’.

Yuuri recalled his first near-encounter with Nikiforov and his cold dismissal. He did not want to discuss it now, not with Mila, who was bright and friendly, but also a friend of Nikiforov’s.

‘He impressed everyone’, Phichit said. ‘Did you see that Japanese spell he used?’.

Mila snorted. ‘I did! I bet lots of people dreamt of setting Vitya on fire but you’re the only one who’s actually followed through, Yuuri’.

Yuuri summoned the memory of the duel: the heat coming in waves from the firebird, Nikiforov’s ugly, uneven breaths, his own collapse as he couldn’t reach the man. Mila and Phichit still chatted when Yuuri downed his drink and offered Mila his hand, unconsciously mimicking her earlier gesture.

_Fuck it._

‘Mila’, he said, ‘let’s dance’.

 

***

 

Yuuri was still sober enough to remember that he wasn’t that great at quickstep, and tipsy enough to decide that he didn’t care. In his arms, Mila let herself be carried away by a jazzy tune, laughing and trying not to spill the wine she was still holding. Yuuri found out that it was easier to survive the banquet if it was the whole chamber that twirled with him, and not only his thoughts that whirled in his mind. The wine on his tongue tasted better than the Calming Draught.

So Yuuri drank and danced until Mila minced away and Nikiforov came closer and closer, close enough that he was soon within arm’s reach. Yuuri didn’t know if it was the alcohol in his veins or just Nikiforov’s blue eyes, but he couldn’t care less that they were the only ones dancing. Somehow, somewhere, the [music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIgU9aNpb9k)changed – no longer a tripping jazzy tune but a piercing waltz. Yuuri led Victor in circles, his steps light and sure, and softer than they had been on the duelling platform. Victor’s right hand was warm, his fingers calloused from all the years of wielding his wand. They held to each other steadily, finding footsteps where language failed, where they couldn’t find words.

They were close. Close enough that Yuuri could smell the wine Victor had been drinking before, close enough that he could see the hues of blue in his eyes, close enough to get entangled in the gold of Yuuri’s robe and to lose Victor’s red one in a twirl to the sound of the waltz’s triple time.

Waltzing away his resentment and disgrace, Yuuri allowed himself to be enchanted, if only for a moment. Viktor smelled like almond and cherry, and laughed freely, and moved mellifluously, like a dryad. They were mirroring each other’s gestures, almost as if in a duel, only without the underlying rivalry.

There was a tension – but of a different kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're finally in the middle of this fic! It's been such an incredible journey so far and I'd like to thank you all for your feedback. You guys are wonderful. 
> 
> This chapter is unbetaed and it probably shows - I was in a hurry to update the fic before taking a short break to go on holiday. I'll probably update some time in September once I return and get my life together.  
> [Dani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie), who's been doing a fantastic job trying to make this fic readable, still offered a lot of wonderful suggestions and without her the duel between Yuuri and Viktor would be a disaster. 
> 
> Some notes before I go:  
> \+ Last time I linked a [tumblr post](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/post/163747300631/cherry-wood-and-golden-robes-chapter-5-notes) with notes to Chapter 5 - it could come in handy now as well, especially when it comes to the Firebird and the spell Ligneus Adsimulo.  
> \+ The idea that Victor would wear his wand on his belt comes from the fact that belts used to be a culturally important element of traditional Russian clothing; there was a belief that belts had magical powers, and people used to wear on belts their smoking accessories. I thought it would be neat to combine the two ideas.  
> \+ the location of the city of Kashgar meant it was an important city for the development of both Chinese culture and economy - it was one of the major stops on the Silk Road. The region of Xinjiang, where the city lies, has a rich history of wine production, probably dating back to the 4th century BC but there is evidence pointing towards a much earlier activity. The traditional Kashgar wine, which is often home-made, is called "museles" and this is what Yuuri (and Victor) drank.  
> \+ I didn't think of a specific song to which Mila and Yuuri could dance, and the beautiful waltz has already been linked before. If it interests you, the whole soundtrack is stunning and In the Mood for Love is a masterpiece. I love to use this soundtrack as my writing music and it just clicked. But originally, months ago, I planned to include here a much darker piece originally composed for a film aired back in the 70s and based on a very mediocre novel whose heroine's mental health plays a crucial role in the plot: [link here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDU3O4ZloZo)  
> +[Here](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/post/163747481101/cherry-wood-and-golden-robes-ages-of-characters) is the list of characters whose ages are changed. 
> 
> Again, thank you for the wonderful feedback this fic has received so far, and please tell me what you think! I'm really curious to get to know where you think this story is going.
> 
> If you'd like to chat or read my ramblings about deadlines, updates and other fun things, I'm here on [tumblr](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of warning - there may be a potential trigger at the end of the chapter - the last scene is quite anxiety-heavy. If you prefer to skip it, stop reading when you get to the line "the exhibitions were over".

 

# 

 

In the morning, Yuuri woke up to the memory of tiptoeing unsteadily to the hotel room he was sharing with Phichit. He remembered the dancing the night before: Nikiforov’s long silver ponytail in the air, their intoxication sweet and warm and infinite like the string music they had been waltzing to. 

It hit him then. 

So this is what Yuuri had done – he’d danced with the man he despised, with the man who hated his guts and who’d humiliated him whenever he could. He’d danced with the man he’d hurt on the duelling platform as if he were a practice dummy and not a human being.

Yuuri’s head ached, heavy; his mouth was dry. He wished for a glass of water, but did nothing to move. His limbs were leaden against the white crumpled bedsheets, too heavy to get out of the bed, to face this new day as if yesterday meant nothing. 

There was nothing unfamiliar about the sensation that overcame him then. Yuuri inhaled his anxiety with every sharp intake of breath. Anoesis enveloped him, hot like the firebird’s wings, like an insatiable monster. He began to sweat; his shirt started to cling to his back. It felt unpleasant, gross, and Yuuri, again, felt ashamed. 

Yuuri knew his monsters. He could never duel them away. 

Phichit roused from his sleep. He took one sluggish look at Yuuri, who was taking in his air loudly. Yuuri must have woken his friend up. His wheezing breaths sounded like howling wind in the quiet room. 

‘Oh, Yuuri’, Phichit said. He silently summoned a glass and muttered a quick  _ Aquamenti.  _  The gurgling sound of water lasted but a few seconds, but Yuuri clang to it like to a lifebelt.  ‘I’m here. Will you breathe for me?’.

Yuuri recalled the blazing wings of the Firebird. He tried, and tried, and tried.

 

***

 

It felt as if years had passed before Yuuri regained his footing. Phichit had sat with him until Yuuri could breathe more evenly, humming a soft tune they both began to associate with the frequent occasions Yuuri needed to find himself inside the eye of his anxiety as if it was a hurricane. 

His movements were drowsy as Yuuri went about his morning routine; the everyday ritual of showering, hair-combing and teeth-brushing dragged on the way nightmares sometimes do, as if time and space were glued together with chewing gum. 

Yuuri stubbornly refused to think about the previous night. Even as he still recalled the warmth of Nikiforov’s hands around his waist and shoulders and the man’s breath tickling his neck, Yuuri forcibly pushed the memory back into the furthest corner of his mind. He wished he knew Occlumency; but as it was, the flashbacks would come, vivid with colours and aural with voices Yuuri would rather not see and hear again.

He muttered his Cherry Blossom Spell under his nose. The delicate scent softened the dry air of the hotel room. Instantly, Yuuri felt much safer, even as the four walls kept enclosing themselves around him. Yuuri made himself focus on the scent and not on the feeling that the walls were steadily creeping up on him.

Phichit seemed to recognize that Yuuri needed space. He busied himself with laying out their clothes, humming and whistling, keen like a skylark. Yuuri’s Mahoutokoro robes, shimmering with gold, were entirely too bright for the grey, groggy mindset Yuuri found himself in. Despite Phichit’s attempts to ease Yuuri into functioning in the morning, the reality blinded him like his own Lumos spell. 

They left their hotel room early. The walls kept closing in on Yuuri until he could not stand it, so he escaped to have breakfast with Harry instead. Somehow, in the previous weeks, Harry had become an anchor – Yuuri knew he’d find his safe space next to him, no questions asked, and he appreciated it as much as he was grateful for Phichit’s steady support. 

The hotel restaurant smelled of coffee and breakfast, and resonated with the quiet chatter of people who needed both to go through their mornings. Phichit spotted Harry, sitting in the corner with Celestino and his friend from the day before, and they made their way to the table. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how he felt about Harry’s friend joining their circle this morning. They had fallen into a routine Cho Chang unintentionally broke. Usually, Yuuri would be wary and withdrawn, but his exhaustion made him indifferent. Breakfast seemed more important than socialising – not only because Yuuri was, in fact, hungry, but also because eating did not have to involve eye-contact. He set about eating his food slowly, methodically, avoiding other people at the table.

Thankfully, Phichit was more than capable of filling in all the lulls in the conversation. Harry seemed to have suffered through his usual bout of insomnia and simply stared down at his coffee, but his friend skillfully directed Phichit’s enthusiastic attention to herself and Celestino.

It was entirely unfair that Phichit was a morning person. Yuuri, who behaved like a zombie even on his best days, listened to their conversation but did not contribute a word. The memory of the previous night still played in his mind, no matter how much he tried to lock it up. Whatever taste his breakfast had, Yuuri did not register it. 

‘I’ve never watched Otabek Altin’s exhibition duels before’, Cho Chang said to Phichit. She was drinking orange juice and the colour contrasted with her dark robe, too bright for Yuuri’s taste. She was dressed to work, already better put together than most of the patrons in the restaurant. Yuuri could not help but notice the stark difference between her and Harry, who haphazardly threw a robe over his Muggle sweatpants. Yuuri, already wearing his golden Mahoutokoro robes, thought enviously that casual clothing was a good option. A lot of his morning concentration went into making sure he would not spill anything on his clothes. His cleaning spells were mediocre at best. 

As Phichit went on about Altin’s duelling style, with Cho adding short but insightful comments in-between, Harry finally looked up from his coffee cup and noticed Yuuri’s tired face.

‘You okay?’, he asked, his voice not louder than a whisper. 

Yuuri shrugged.

‘You can pull out of the exhibition if you want’, Harry suggested tentatively. ‘Your sponsors will throw a fit, but I think I could find a way to keep them happy until your next event comes’. 

‘No’, Yuuri said. 

Quitting, the ultimate failure. Duels  _ could  _ destroy Yuuri – this is what had been happening to him, and this is what was going to happen to him, again and again, until there was nothing of Yuuri left. But admitting to failure would be much worse. Yuuri was not ready to give the world the final proof that he was a fraud. Harry spoke with the reluctance which showed Yuuri that the man had to sense it, too. Harry nodded, slowly, and didn’t return to the topic even after Cho gave him a curious glance. 

 

***

 

Only three duellists performed in exhibitions – always the three who medalled. Yuuri, who hadn’t lucked out in the previous competitions, felt the pressure around his temples as he watched the duelling platform. It didn’t happen that often that he’d duel in an exhibition, and while there were no points to be scored today, he still allowed the tension to get to him. 

The arena crowded with spectators. Yuuri had to wait in the entrance of the antechamber for competitors before his own duel would begin. As the chamber slowly filled with people and rang with the murmur of their voices, the platform was still being prepared for the exhibition. Yuuri saw Cho standing by as a team of wizards cast protective spells around it, preventing any charms from injuring the audience. The woman spotted him and gave him a small wave before returning to her work. 

‘Has Nikiforov talked to you?’, Phichit asked quietly. ‘Or Altin?’.

After Yuuri’s panic attack in the morning, Phichit had slipped a Calming Draught into his pocket, gave Yuuri another potion to cure his hangover, and then refused to leave him alone. Officially, his presence in the competitors’ area was not against the rules, but tradition had it that the duellist could only be accompanied by the instructor. Harry now observed the empty platform with a frown – he looked slightly more awake than in the morning, which Yuuri took as a good sign – and he had said nothing as Phichit pushed through the crowd of people to join them. Yuuri figured Phichit’s presence there was acceptable, then, and could not help but be thankful for his friend’s persistence. 

‘No’, Yuuri answered now. ‘But he said in an interview he never speaks to his opponents before an exhibition’.

‘Huh’, Phichit said. ‘Weird’. 

It wasn’t, though. There were two schools of thought when it came to exhibitions. They could be planned by the duellists earlier, set up just so to show off the most beautiful sequences and the most flamboyant spells – or they could be played out like regular duels, with no prior choreography. 

Nikiforov famously favoured the latter option; he would never approach his opponent to come up with choreography. Yuuri remembered reading that the man considered it fake. He had no idea what Altin thought on the matter, but since the other duellist had not talked to him either, he probably shared Nikiforov’s views. 

Yuuri himself had no opinion. He did not think he medalled often enough to bother with having one – exhibitions were a rare treat anyway.

Altin and Nikiforov were set to enter the duelling area from opposite sides, which meant that one of them had to walk past Yuuri. It was Altin. The Durmstrang wizard did not acknowledge Yuuri, other than nodding, and soon entered the arena, completely unmoved by the applause. Yuuri realized that he’d see Altin’s back the whole time. The other man’s robes, entirely black, were not enough to obscure the view of Nikiforov’s pale face, right across from Yuuri at the other end of the platform. 

There was something different about Nikiforov. He wore the same black robes with blue hems, and his hair looked as silvery as usual, but the expression on the man’s face made Yuuri think he was missing something. Gone was the serious, stony look – and yet Yuuri had no words to describe what he could read in Nikiforov’s face. 

If the man spotted Yuuri, he didn’t let it show. The duel began, all silent except for the swish of robes and patter of footsteps. Yuuri knew that Nikiforov, though not willing to discuss them beforehand, preferred his exhibitions more flamboyant than his regular duels. It showed. The Firebird may have been spectacular enough, but Nikiforov in exhibitions was on another level entirely, quick, agile, unpredictable. He reminded Yuuri of the duel against Phichit – just like then, here, too, Nikiforov looked unusual, as if he enjoyed duelling for a change. The concentration was there, the skill was there, and suddenly nothing was missing – something clicked, and the expression on Nikiforov’s handsome face came as close to content as Yuuri’d seen on the man. 

Altin was relying on Transfiguration. Yuuri absently wondered what Phichit would say – he hated that. But his friend was silent, and so was Harry, so they watched the duel quietly. The whole audience seemed to hold their breaths. Yuuri spotted Yurio and Mila in the stands. The concentrated look on the teenager’s face was similar to the one Yuuri thought he too had to spot. There was no surprise about it – Altin was almost impossible to watch, moving in fluid, predatory movements. Around him, magic twirled with spells that changed shapes quicker than Yuuri blinked. It took some skill to perform advanced Transfiguration so accurately and in sequences. But then again – exhibitions were all about showing off your skill. 

Nikiforov, too, had talent in spades. Yuuri knew that. He’d seen that. He also saw Nikiforov now. The man took Altin’s attacks in stride, reacting to his spells with the surety of a man who could see the future. 

Yet Nikiforov was neither a clairvoyant nor a mathematician. Yuuri didn’t know if the man had ever heard about the probability theory – but he’d certainly seen Altin’s style, the positions for his spells, the sequences he favoured. It showed. Nikiforov moved with the years of grace honed into his bones. 

‘Brilliant’, Yuuri exhaled. Nikiforov did  _ something  _ with his wand that sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine. The air shimmered; it was a shield, Yuuri knew, but it glimmered with pale gold instead of the usual Protego silver. In a second, the spell was over; the moment was over, and Nikiforov moved to attack. He lunged with a sequence of Stunners that Yuuri himself liked, but it was easy to rebuff.

Spells flew. For a moment, Yuuri forgot about his own upcoming exhibition and let himself enjoy the performance. There was a kind of artistry in it that Yuuri only associated with Nikiforov: strength and beauty together, framed by black and blue. Yuuri could not look away.

The duel ended as silently as it began. Yuuri realized neither of the wizards had uttered a word. As they left the platform, their footsteps were drowned out by the applause. Yuuri, though, still heard his heartbeat. 

 

***

 

Yuuri had no plan for his duel with Altin. In a way, it was easier to approach the exhibition as if it were any other fight. Choreography stressed Yuuri more than the years of experience he’d gathered relying on his instincts and spells drilled during long hours of practice. 

He almost looked forward to it. Kashgar carried a scent of anxiety in the air; at any other time, Yuuri would have fallen in love with the city. There were wizards here, silk-wavers, whose spells produced the finest material in the world. It was, really, the stuff of magic. A part of Yuuri longed to explore, to learn more about what magic was like in a city as ancient as Kashgar. 

Yet there was another part of Yuuri, a part he knew in a bitter and intimate way. It whispered to him that the sooner the exhibition was over, the sooner he could return to Hasetsu. And Yuuri longed for home. It was exhausting to just exist so close to Nikiforov. It would be easier – so much easier – to give up at once, to become engulfed anew by the plain everydayness of Hasetsu. Yuuri knew it would destroy him, day by day, piece by piece, with the slowness and sureness of erosion. Hasetsu would take Yuuri apart every time the waves on the beach hit the shore. The duels burnt his heart with the same surety, but faster. And so he stayed. 

It was impossible to guess what Altin was thinking. He was eyeing Yuuri with exactly the same look he gave everybody else, distant and calculating. Yuuri wondered absently if the Durmstrang wizard had any friends. 

Before his duel with Yuuri, Altin had been spectacular. Yuuri had to up his game if he wanted this exhibition to be as memorable as the previous one. Spells were just flickers, but they could leave a lasting impression. Yuuri wanted to imprint himself on the spectators’ minds as someone more than just a common duellist. They were ten a penny, easy to come across, even easier to forget. Yuuri wanted to be worth more; he knew he was worth less. 

The duel began in a flash of white. Yuuri fired a spell with a flurry of snow. It was always difficult to produce a reliable weather charm, and he thrived on the challenge. Altin gathered the snowstorm into a globe and directed it back at Yuuri, who simply ducked. He let himself rely on his reflexes again, moving as in a trance, stepping out of the spells’ way, falling into a natural, but unpredictable rhythm. Spells flew around them swift like birds.

_ Impedimenta,  _ Yuuri thought. The spell hit the target. It froze not Altin but the Transfigured orb of light he’d just fired at Yuuri. The world stopped; Yuuri moved out of the orb’s way, attacked Altin with a Stunner and pivoted on one foot. Altin reacted a bit too slowly, as if the Impedimenta had hit him, too. Yuuri thought, belatedly, that the man had to be stunned. 

The pun made him snicker as he sent a sequence of white-tinted spells Altin’s way. It felt good to enjoy the duel so – yet there was pricking under his skin that made Yuuri wary, on edge, and as he avoided Altin’s spells, he tried to channel some of his agitation to fly away with his charms and jinxes. 

In vain – it only grew. 

The duel went on but Yuuri felt frozen in time; moments dragged on and he hung by the thread of his spells. It was beautiful, elegant, full of light, like a tableaux vivant. Yuuri cast his spells as if entranced, and yet he moved with underlying pugnacity, a tension in his movements hidden only by his willpower. Spells flew in flashes and flares of bright light, colours scintillating in the air like charmed fireflies. Yuuri let himself be carried away, spellbound by his own magic and by Altin’s powerful spells. He fell into reverie with a long-forgotten kind of wonder, and only the tension in his shoulders kept him on edge. It was as easy as breathing to let himself duel, move, hope. He worked his feet into similar patterns. 

_ Impedimenta, Depulso, Protego,  _ followed by  _ Stupefy, Petrificus Totalus, Ligneo Adsimulus. Protego, Stupefy, Alarte Ascendare.  _ A lunge, a twist, an appel.  _ Depulso, Depulso,  _ a feint.  _ Hamaya,  _ a feint,  _ Arresto Momentum.  _ A balestra, a lunge, and Yuuri croaked the spell out.

‘ _ Lumos!’,  _ the word dried on his tongue, but it worked, it worked, and the exhibition was over. 

The spell shone bright under Yuuri’s eyelids longer after he had whispered a coarse  _ Nox.  _

‘Thanks, Katsuki’, Altin told him as they shook hands. There was an unexpected smile on his face. ‘That was great’. 

_ Was it?,  _ Yuuri wanted to ask, but he didn’t. 

 

***

 

‘Introduce me’, Yurio snarled at him the moment Yuuri entered the antechamber designated for duellists waiting for their performances. There was about an hour before Yuuri had to get ready for his duel with Nikiforov – as if an hour would ever suffice. 

There was no telling how Yurio had gotten there in the first place. The room was secured so that the duellists would be left in peace and quiet; some preferred to enter a semi-meditative state before duels, so it was as much for their comfort as to create anticipation. A duellist the audience couldn’t see was a duelist who people waited for more eagerly. 

Yurio should be somewhere in the stands, not with Yuuri. It must have been Harry who had let the teenager in. Yuuri locked his eyes with his coach, who just shrugged. The man had transfigured three chairs and a coffee table out of thin air, and now sat there with his friend Cho and with a bubbling, excited Phichit, drinking coffee and talking in quiet voices. Yuuri knew what Harry was doing –after a duel, he often needed space to shake his emotions off, and preferred to be left alone for a moment. Harry gave him the opportunity while remaining close. 

But it was all counterproductive – Yuuri got accosted by Yurio immediately after the other duellist spotted him.

‘Introduce me’, he repeated. There was an edge to his voice Yuuri hadn’t heard before.

‘To whom?’, he asked. In the back of the chamber, Phichit was observing the scene, eyebrows raised, faint smirk on his face, cup of coffee in his hand. Yuuri promised to himself he would give him hell at the next practice. 

‘Altin’, Yurio said. ‘Do you even need to ask? You talked to him. You know him. Go to him and introduce me’. 

Yuuri couldn’t help it, he snorted. 

‘I don’t know him. He thanked me for the duel. That’s all. If you want to meet him, you can approach him himself. You didn’t seem to have trouble when you came to me’. 

‘That’s different’, Yurio argued. He had a stubborn glint in his eyes, but Yuuri recognized his posture, keyed-up and a bit defensive. Yuuri had looked like this, too, and often. 

‘Go’, Harry said. He was smiling. ‘We can discuss your duel later, Yuuri. You’re free to go unless you want to talk with me now’. 

Yuuri did not want to talk to anybody. He tagged along with Yurio anyway, following the teen as he made his way through the talkative audience and to the antechamber on the opposite side of the arena. Otabek Altin was still there, talking to his coach and Mila Babicheva. He looked exhausted, and Yuuri thought he was going to feel the same after his duel with Nikiforov. 

Yurio did not seem to need any help with his introductions after all. Leaving Yuuri behind, he pushed towards Altin and stuck his hand out. He said something too quietly for Yuuri to hear. 

Yuuri hung back. He felt like an intruder. Mila gave Yuuri a friendly wave and a smirk but soon returned to her conversation with Feltsman. Altin had yet to notice him, and Yuuri was not even sure whether he was welcome. He thought about returning to his own chamber for some last-minute preparations, but it would be rude to leave Yurio alone. He’d seemed to have needed a friend even as he set out to make a new one, and Yuuri was loathe to abandon him. 

So he stopped at the entrance, watching Yurio talk with Altin. He didn’t have much time; hopefully, Yurio would be quick. Feeling both awkward and bored, Yuuri let his gaze wander until it caught a glimmer of silver.

Nikiforov was in the chamber, too, sitting in the corner by himself. Yuuri realized, belatedly, that the man had to prepare for their upcoming duel as well. He probably had come to the chamber just as Altin was leaving. He did not seem to notice Yuuri and watched Altin and Yurio instead. For somebody who was just about to duel, Nikiforov appeared unusually carefree, idly brushing his hair, outer robes thrown on a chair. Yuuri risked a glance at Yurio, who was still chatting to Altin, and then back at Nikiforov. It would be a good moment to leave, he realized, even as he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of leaving Yurio alone. It would be a good moment to leave – Nikiforov had not noticed him yet.

Only he did, blue eyes staring back at Yuuri. Nikiforov blinked, slowly, and tilted his head. Yuuri did not know how to name the emotions that flashed on the man’s face. Nikiforov opened his mouth as if to say something, Yuuri but took it as his chance to turn on his heel and leave before—

No.  He would not think about it.

Yuuri could not shake the image of Nikiforov off even as he walked back to his own chamber. It felt as if no time had passed, as if they were still dancing. A bitter bile of disgust sat heavy in his stomach as he recalled how they twirled on the dance floor, radiant and light-hearted. The Nikiforov Yuuri had held in his arms was the same man who had mocked him and belittled him – and the same man who looked at him just moments before, no hate visible in his blue eyes. 

‘Katsuki? Wait!’.

Yuuri stopped. Someone tugged on his sleeve and let go when Yuuri turned around. It was Nikiforov, his hair dishevelled, looking as if he had run out after Yuuri with no care in the world. He still wasn’t wearing his robes and his wand was worn on his leather belt, the same style as the night before.

No. Yuuri did not want to think about the night before.

‘What do you want?’, he asked. Nikiforov moved back a bit after hearing his brash response, but Yuuri himself was astonished to hear his own voice; he may have been rude, but there was no malice with which he had thought about Nikiforov so often.

‘I just’, Nikiforov began, and then stopped. Yuuri waited. It was hard not to show impatience. 

‘Yes?’.

‘Great duel’, Nikiforov said. ‘Against Altin. I was watching. I’m looking forward to facing you again’. 

Nikiforov  was waiting for something, Yuuri realized, but he couldn’t read the other man. 

‘I... Yes. Thank you’, he just said. A thank-you was safe, he figured. ‘You don’t have to wait long’. 

He cringed. It sounded too ominous for a casual remark, but Nikiforov smiled, way too kindly. He looked so different from what Yuuri remembered and so similar to the man he had danced with last night. 

‘Yes’, Nikiforov said. Yuuri noticed a faint trace of foreign accent wrapped around the vowel. There was an awful lot of yes’s in their conversation. 

‘See you’, Yuuri finally replied when it turned out Nikiforov was still waiting for something, and Yuuri still could not figure out what it was. 

He left, heart beating and palms sweating, feeling as confused as he would if he’d hit his head on the duelling platform. 

 

***

 

By the time Yuuri reached his own chamber, Harry had thrown Phichit out of it. 

‘I told him to join Celestino and find a nice seat to take pictures from’, Harry said. ‘He was very enthusiastic’.

Which translated to ‘he was being overbearing and I didn’t know what else to do’. Yuuri understood completely, so he let it slide. It was Harry’s fault in the first place, letting Phichit drink coffee. Cho Chang still sat at the Transfigured table, looking completely lost in some notes that she’d been taking with her quill. 

‘Don’t mind me’, she mumbled as she finally noticed that Yuuri had come back. ‘I’m just going’. 

‘Your duel with Altin was great, Yuuri’, Harry said. ‘I liked how you incorporated the balestra before your Lumos. We’re going to analyse everything later, of course, there’s no time now, but just let me tell you-you did an amazing job’. 

Yuuri opened his mouth to contradict him, but then closed it shut. It  _ had  _ felt amazing, back there on the duelling platform, and somehow Yuuri couldn’t find it inside him to say that it had not. The tension that had sat on his shoulders still hadn’t lifted, but Yuuri was surprised by his own confidence.

Maybe, he realized, maybe he could redeem himself. 

‘I may try the Patronus Charm today’, he suddenly decided. 

It was only when he had said it out loud that Yuuri realized it was true. This duel would not be officially assessed. If he messed the spell up, it would be only his image that would suffer but not his international ranking. 

Yuuri feared that the spell would lay bare all his shortcomings. Successful or not, the Patronus would reveal a part of Yuuri’s soul to the audience, raw and imperfect and ready to be shattered into a thousand pieces. He wasn’t sure whether he would ever be prepared to unveil his heart before the audience, before Nikiforov. And yet, the charm waited to be cast, tingling at his fingertips, tantalizing. 

A phial of Calming Draught, protected by a set of unbreakable charms, was waiting in his pocket, too, tempting him with a similar sensation. Yuuri forced himself to shake the feeling off before the world darkened. 

‘So it would be a fantastic idea to try the spell now, in the exhibition’, Harry was talking. Yuuri realized that the man must have been speaking for quite some time. 

He just nodded. Harry gave him a look, fully aware that Yuuri had no idea what he had just said. 

‘You’ll do well’, Cho spoke up, cutting in just as Yuuri was going to apologise. She stood up, pointing her wand at her papers, which folded themselves neatly and flew into one of the pockets of her official black robe. She walked up to Yuuri with a smile on her face. 

‘You’ll do well’, Cho repeated, kindly. ‘Harry taught me how to cast the Patronus too, you know. I know what I’m talking about. It’s going to be all you. But trust what he told you’. 

 

***

 

Yuuri’s black robes fell heavy on his shoulders as he stepped out of his antechamber and towards the platform. He had to squint to see through the smudge on his glasses. It began to annoy him now that the duel was about to start where he had ignored it earlier so easily. He focused on the smear to tune out the excited buzz coming from the audience.

It was through the blur of his fingerprints plastered on his glasses that Yuuri saw Nikiforov, climbing onto the platform from its other side. The chatter of the audience grew louder and a strange kind of energy passed through the chamber. Yuuri could feel it pricking his skin as if it were a spell. He took a few steps forward. The dirt on his glasses made the world blurred, fogged, as if Yuuri had just woken up from a long sleep. It was too late to clear his glasses now, unless he could smuggle in a Cleaning Spell in between his  _ Stupefies _ and  _ Protegos _ . 

Through the smudge, Nikiforov looked like an apparition – or maybe it was Yuuri who read too much into a spot of dirt. The man gave Yuuri a nod even before the judges ordered them to bow – and Yuuri stared at the man’s face, surprised, but all astonishment rose beyond Yuuri’s comprehension when he noticed the man’s robes. 

He was wearing them now. Yuuri remembered the simple traditional outfit Nikiforov had under his robes, but it was the outer duelling clothes that called to Yuuri’s attention. Smeared glasses or not, Yuuri could see the colour as clearly as if it had imprinted itself in his mind: Victor Nikiforov had changed his robes. The man had been well known for his signature blue hems, the only part of the duelling attire they were allowed to choose. Yuuri could recall with clarity that earlier that day Nikiforov’s hems were his usual blue, blue like his eyes. 

They were golden now. 

Golden, the exact shade of Yuuri’s Mahoutokoro robes – the exact shade of Yuuri’s own hems. For a moment Yuuri stood there, perplexed, looking at Nikiforov as if in a mirror, seeing a doppelganger, so terrifyingly identical and yet so different, hair shining silver to Yuuri’s black. 

It had to have a meaning, Yuuri knew; it was a symbol, a warning, a promise, but of what, Yuuri could not tell. The change threw Yuuri off, and when he finally bowed – a curt, startled half-bow to Nikiforov’s deeper full one – Nikiforov’s behaviour planted a seed in Yuuri’s mind. Was it a part of the man’s game? Nikiforov had mocked Yuuri before. Nothing stopped him from doing that again.

Yet there was no animosity in Nikiforov’s expression; neither was it schooled empty and blank the way it had been before. If Yuuri could pore through the fog on his glasses, he would say that Nikiforov’s face was peaceful, solemn. 

The duel began like countless others before, in a flurry of robes, the black and the gold. Yuuri blocked Nikiforov’s fervent attack and obscured himself in a veil of grey smoke. It gave him a precious moment – he leapt to the right and then forward, sending a sequence of three Stunners. The red beams of the spell cut through the dark fog. All missed the target. Soon the mist dissipated with a swish of Nikiforov’s wand. 

Yuuri was never still in one place, constantly moving, as if he was not a duellist but a dancer. Nikiforov’s spells missed him by mere inches, and Yuuri responded in kind, forcing the man to hide behind dark silvery shields until only a speck of gold of his robes was visible from under the spell. Then Yuuri fell out of track – Nikiforov kept too still, too quiet, and Yuuri did not know what the man planned until a deafening noise sound came crashing down. 

Nikiforov sent Yuuri a thunder. 

Yuuri staggered back, curling, and fired a long-familiar sequence of Stunners at the man, but it did little against the power of the boisterous boom that bellowed right above Yuuri’s head and would not stop even after Yuuri aimed at it with an overpowered Banishing Charm. 

_ Shit,  _ Yuuri thought,  _ Depulso! _

Only it did nothing, Nikiforov swished his wand in one long motion, his robes billowing, and the thunder moved – at first slowly like a grey glacier, then fast, pushing Yuuri down and back. Yuuri breathed heavily, falling to his knees. His chest heaved. He didn’t risk a glance at Nikiforov; whatever it took to cast this spell, it was wearing the man down, otherwise he’d be attacking Yuuri with different spells. And that meant the booming smog could be banished. 

The thunderstorm moved again, this time to the right, sleeting rain on Yuuri’s face; cold droplets got into his eyes and stuck to his glasses, and Yuuri could see even less than he had. 

He sent off an overpowered Impervious, which again did nothing to banish the thunderstorm. The podium vibrated with magic. There was a certain kind of electricity in the air, not unlike in the real storm. Yuuri could almost taste the dense air and hear it cracking. 

He kicked his shoulders back just a notch and aimed his wand at the cloud, and thought of Nikiforov’s duel in Sochi, of Nikiforov on the platform now, of the golden hems of their robes.  _ Protego,  _ thought Yuuri. A shield rose from his wand, silver like Nikiforov’s hair, glimmering as magic danced across the surface. The thunder bellowed again but Yuuri’s spell stood strong. He focused and pushed, pushed, pushed, the same way Nikiforov had done in Sochi, and poured his magic into the shield as it shoved the cloud towards Nikiforov. 

The other man carried off the spell and wobbled back before launching into a fast offensive sequence. Yuuri matched his every step, casting quicker than ever, without a break, without abandon. His thoughts whirled like Yuuri himself had in the dance the night before, and this duel, too, resembled a kind of dancing. 

Yuuri grew tired. Tension gripped his neck. Spells flew in dark smoke and beams of light that fluttered under his eyelids. Nikiforov’s footsteps replied to his own, in twists and patterns that they both intimately knew. Yuuri felt as if the duel had lasted since forever, since the previous night, as if they had never stopped that strange waltz that left Yuuri breathless. 

‘ _ Aguamenti!’,  _ Yuuri hissed through his teeth, aiming at Nikiforov’s face. As the water cascaded down, the man’s concentration slipped off. His expression brightened. He swished his wand in the same motion Yuuri had already seen twice and a hot wave swept across the platform.  The Firebird emerged from the wand, all red and gold and scorching, and spread his wings wide before diving in for Yuuri’s head. 

The heat hit Yuuri just like the thunder did, knocking him almost breathless.  _ Shit,  _ he swore,  _ not again, not again,  _ and prepared to blast the bird off with a Depulso, only to change his mind in the last moment. 

The wand movement was familiar. Yuuri stared hard at the bird and took a loud deep breath, feeling the hot air burn his lungs, thinking of happiness, of the music, of whirling and twirling and living.

_ ‘Expecto Patronum!’. _

White mist concealed him like the smoke had before. It rose up to meet the Firebird, and Yuuri took a long, shallow breath, too painful to give relief. 

The Patronus remained a milky, silvery haze. It never became corporeal. Yuuri waited for his sable to appear, but all he got was the blast of the mist which kept the Firebird off him for a long second before Nikiforov, startled, called his spell off. 

Yuuri let his own spell hover around him; with the mist up in the air, some of the tension in his neck lifted. He fell to his knees again, wheezing as his lungs still burnt with the hot air. He dropped his cherry wood wand onto the platform. Through the haze of the spell, through the smudges on his glasses, he made out Nikiforov taking a few steps towards him, reaching out with his wand-free hand. 

The exhibitions were over. 

 

***

 

Water dripped from the sink. 

Droplets hung to the faucet and fell almost reluctantly. Yuuri could tell – he watched them go, one by one, infrequent, until the sound would not leave his head. It reminded him of the Chinese water torture, only here, it was enough that the water fell into the sink, echoing in the spacious, empty public bathroom, resonating against the dark blue tiles. It didn’t even need to touch Yuuri’s forehead. 

Yuuri slouched over the sink, staring at his reflection in the dirty hotel mirror. He’d blocked the door with a simple locking spell, hoping that it would be enough to discourage other patrons from using this bathroom, but the silence kept him on edge. He still pricked up his ears, listening on whether somebody was coming. 

He left the noise of the Cup of Asia on the other side of the closed door. There were interviews to give and hands to shake, but Yuuri’s own hands shook without any outside help, and so he’d run towards the bathroom the first moment he could. He felt like a spooked animal, ready to flee even as exhaustion tightened his body. Yuuri took his outer robes off, leaving them by the sink. The tension in his neck strained the muscles in white pain. They contracted whenever he heard the water drop. 

There was, still, a phial of Calming Draught in his pocket. Yuuri fished it out with a trembling hand, glad for Phichit’s hindsight, and uncorked it with his cherry wand. 

There wasn’t a noise; he was not startled. And yet Yuuri’s hand shook and the phial fell to the floor, turning in the air as if in slow-motion, as if Yuuri starred in a Muggle film. 

_ It’s unbreakable,  _ Yuuri thought,  _ I charmed it,  _ and he watched as the liquid spilled on the floor, spreading on the white tiles like a puddle of petrol.

Yuuri stared, and stared, and staggered, and then – Yuuri was no more. 

He felt himself watching the phial as if through a fish lens. Yuuri tried to breathe, but his vision tunnelled, dark, suffocating. Yuuri dropped to the floor. 

Breathing was hard, very hard. Yuuri fought for the air but his breaths shallowed into uneven gasps, the only sound against the persistent dripping of the water. He heard himself wheeze, the noise much louder than it should be, but his gasps still overcame the deafening thud of the clenching around his head. 

The water dripped. Bile grew in Yuuri’s stomach, rising up, bloated and bitter, but Yuuri’s throat was too tight to puke. His bones were too brittle, his body too weak against the cold floor. It could not take it all. 

His eyes still showed the world as if tipped over, twisted, blurred and from afar. It made Yuuri dizzy. He closed his eyes, putting his arms around his head. There was a pressure around his temples, still clenching, and a grip around his throat, pushing until his gasps for air grew more and more uneven. The more he wheezed, the louder the pounding in his head became, and Yuuri clasped his head, willing it to stop. He could not breathe. 

The blood pounded in Yuuri’s ears. His heart raced and with every heartbeat, his body grew hotter and hotter, as if his blood was about to boil over. He scratched his arms; his skin was sweaty, and Yuuri felt as if it was his sweat dripping on the floor, not the water into the sink. Yuuri’s shirt clung to his skin, repulsive, irritating, and wet, weirdly cold against the heat rising under his skin like the firebird spreading his wings. 

The water kept dripping away. Yuuri wheezed in a gasp of air and made an effort to focus on the sound. It did not ground him. The splash became louder, a dissonance against the pounding in Yuuri’s head. Desperate, with a shallow cry, Yuuri willed it to stop.

Magic exploded.

Yuuri fell backwards as the sink came flying down, splashing Yuuri with cold water, and drove into the tiles with a thud. The floor was now cracked – Yuuri heard the noise of the marble. His next breath made him inhale a whiff of smoke. It got into Yuuri’s lungs the way the oxygen could not. 

_ Fire,  _ Yuuri thought,  _ where is the fire,  _ and it felt as if the firebird itself had come, as if Yuuri was hiding against its plumage. 

Magic buzzed in the air; through the pounding in his head, Yuuri felt more than heard that the door open with a blast. 

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both [SHSLShortie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie) and [eternalsunshine13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13) offered a lot of helpful suggestions and I'm really grateful - it was really difficult for me to write this chapter and their insight means a world <3  
> A few notes before we leave Kashgar and move on to a bit happier times (I hope):  
> \+ I mentioned silk in relation to Kashgar, and it's not something I came up with. In fact it's known for being an important trading centre for centuries, especially when it comes to silk and spices.  
> \+ Viktor's decision to set that thunderstorm on Yuuri came to my mind when I was reading up on traditions of the Mari people. Back in chapter 4, I mentioned Viktor being part Mari - it seemed like a fitting idea since the Mari - who live in Russia - still have their indigenous religion and cultivate a lot of traditions which set them apart from Russians. Their religion mentions Küdryrchö Jumo, god of thunder, as well as other deities whose powers were weather-related, which led me to believe that nature was a vital part of their culture, hence the spell. 
> 
> I'm already working on the next chapter (and like four other fics) so hopefully I can update within the next two-three weeks.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!  
> If you're curious about updates or want to chat, I'm wasting time here on [tumblr](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

 

The letter had arrived one morning in the last days of April.

Now, almost a month later, the single page was still folded in half, the crease fragile, the corners of the paper frail and torn. It looked well-read, and yet lay abandoned, covered partially by a dog-eared novel and an unopened magazine that were just two of many items cluttering the desk in Yuuri’s bedroom.

Yuuri touched the letter now, spreading it open. He ran his hands over the page, trying to smoothen the texture, but soon the sound of torn paper echoed in the otherwise quiet room. Yuuri stared at the fragment of the paper where he tore the crease and he picked the letter up, bringing it closer to his face. The ripped part hung by a few inches. The words were still legible. Yuuri didn’t feel like casting a Reparo.

Perhaps it didn’t matter. By now, he’d read the letter countless times. He’d ripped the envelope open back in early May, soon after it arrived. Later it had felt easier to ignore it, but as weeks went by, Yuuri began to be drawn to it as if put under a spell.

There was nothing magical about the letter. Yuuri’d had Mari confirm it. She’d cast a series of Revealing Charms, with Yuuri watching, warily, back when he still felt too drained to lift his wand. The letter was as non-magical as they came, even written on a page torn from a Muggle notebook. One side was still frayed.

Yuuri traced it with his finger now. There were no blotches of ink on the paper; European wizards might favour ink, but this one wrote in a Muggle pencil with thick graphite that smudged under the warmth of Yuuri’s fingertips. Yuuri had a feeling that some words must have been erased, but carefully enough that it was impossible to decipher them now, and no charm could uncover what had been wiped out by a Muggle rubber. For a letter as stilted and awkward as this one, it looked as if it had taken a very long time to be composed.

 _Dear Yuuri Katsuki,_ it read, in English, and even these three words looked as if they had been written over something else that had been rubbed out. The paper in that spot was especially fragile.

_I hope you don’t consider this letter to be an intrusion. For all our common competitions, we don’t really know each other, and I did not catch you after the exhibitions in Kashgar, when I wanted to talk to you._

_Word has reached me that you are withdrawing from the rest of competitions this season so I have no choice but to write to you. It is, perhaps, not the same as addressing you directly – I simply wished to thank you for two wonderful duels, the best ones I’ve had in years. You’re a rare duellist: you see duels as an art and not as a craft, and this view is not an easy one to come across._

_It is refreshing – and exhilarating – to meet a duellist who challenges me with both their skills and their approach to beauty. For this, I wanted to thank you._

_I’m hoping to face you again in the future. In the meantime, I would like to send you_

_Best wishes,_

_Viktor Nikiforov_

 

It was awkward to read, and perhaps had been equally awkward to write. Yuuri folded the letter as neatly as he could and put it back on the desk. He had yet to reply to it. It had been too long – now it felt so rude to respond and Yuuri knew that, but it was hard to care. He could barely find enough energy to feel concerned about it, and lifting his pen to paper was reserved for glimpses of imagination. In the future, maybe, Yuuri would reply. If he even knew what to say.

He’d been trying so hard to find traces of insincerity in the letter;  he mumbled the words aloud, Nikiforov’s sentences somehow faltering even in prose, and the compliment sounding so strange, so otherworldly, unlike anything anyone had ever said to him. The Yuuri he had been a few weeks ago, the Yuuri from Sochi and Kashgar and countless other times and places – that Yuuri would have treated the compliment like a slap on the cheek.

This Yuuri was trying not to.

 

***

 

Yuuri could not recall that well, but he’d been told it was Yurio who’d found him.

It felt like it might be true; Yuuri thought that he might have heard rushed footsteps and Yurio’s voice cutting through his own too loud heartbeat. But he was not sure.

‘You scared the shit out of me, Katsudon’, Yurio later told him, in his usual manner, and Yuuri, for a second, was thankful that at least his friend did not mince words. ‘I thought—well never mind what I thought. It’s the second time I’ve found you in a bathroom, Katsudon, don’t make it a habit’.

Yurio had looked concerned, though. Yuuri didn’t mention it to him. It wouldn’t do to tease him, not then, and he felt too exhausted to even think through what he’d just heard. Yurio was sitting by Yuuri’s bed in the hotel, Phichit by his side, and the small room suddenly hosted more people than it should have. Harry was there, too, hovering by the door with Celestino, and Yuuri didn’t quite know what to make of the expressions on their faces.

‘Yurio’, Harry warned then, and Yurio fell silent.

Yuuri could guess what had happened – he didn’t need any of them to tell him. Perhaps, on any other day, embarrassment would cover Yuuri from head to toes like the blanket he’d been tucked under – but now he just felt tired.

‘Sleep, Yuuri’, Phichit said, rearranging his pillow. ‘Your mum will be here soon. We’re bringing you home’.

 

***

 

They’d brought him home.

It was quiet, at first.

The first day passed slowly, with no crowds to watch him, with no spells to cast. April glistened outside in full bloom, cherry blossoms whitish and pink and ready to be admired, but Yuuri had no interest in that. He locked himself in his bedroom and nobody tried to open the door – he thought his family knew him too well, after all.

Somebody had been there, though. The Calming Draught Yuuri had brewed himself no longer stood in the drawer where he had put it. Gone was the cauldron, too. Somebody must have sneaked into Yuuri’s bedroom and search it – Mari, he’d hazard a guess. Yuuri decided to let it go; he felt too drained, too hazy to care, and it was not like he could expect anything different.

His mother brought him breakfast the next day.

‘There’s more downstairs, if you’d like’, she said, watching him chew on the food she’d made. Yuuri had no appetite and forced himself to swallow a few more bites just because Hiroko was watching. He noticed the crow’s feet around her eyes, now visible not only when she smiled.

‘No’, Yuuri said. ‘Thank you. I’m full’.

He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to eat either. Hiroko didn’t make him. She flicked her wand, sending the food tray to the kitchen downstairs, but did not move from her place on Yuuri’s chair.

‘Mari’s thrown out your potion’, she told him. Yuuri’d already known that, but he appreciated her telling him. It felt, now, painfully like a breach of privacy, the way it hadn’t felt yesterday when he was all foggy and numb. But Yuuri, somehow, knew why Mari had done it.

‘I saw’, he just said.

Yuuri knew his mother, her kind smile, the way she tucked her hair behind her ears – the way she made a gesture with her hand that was almost fidgety. He knew his mother well. He knew, of course he knew what she was going to tell him.

‘Have you perhaps’, she started, and Yuuri knew what words would come next, he could have said them himself, ‘thought whether you’d like to see Healer Sasaki again?’.

Yuuri hadn’t seen Healer Sasaki for months. He should go to her – and yet, what good it would be?

He didn’t realise he said the words out loud.

‘You don’t have to go to Healer Sasuki’, his father said then, entering the door. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt – I saw the tray downstairs and thought I’d join you two’.

He brought Lumos with him. The puppy waddled towards Yuuri and he picked Lumos up. Dogs, somehow, made everything better.

‘Your magic potions didn’t make you happier’, Toshiya weighed his words. ‘What if magic can’t cure everything?’

Two weeks later, Yuuri booked an appointment with a Muggle therapist.

 

***

 

Of course, it wasn’t that simple.

Three days after the return from Kashgar, Yuuri saw Healer Sasaki.

‘Are you sure you want to do that?’, she asked when Yuuri informed her what he was going to do. ‘It’s not going to be pleasant or easy’.

‘This isn’t, either’, Yuuri said. ‘It’s... it was good, for a while. But it’s not good anymore, it’s clearly not working for me’.

Healer Sasaki nodded.

‘If that’s what you feel’, she said. She put Yuuri under a series of diagnostic spells, nodding to herself all the while. ‘Good’, she said. ‘I’ll tell you how to do it safely, and you’re going to visit me for a check-up’.

When Yuuri left ten minutes later, she wished him good luck.

Harry waited at him in front of Healer Sasaki’s office, leaning against the wall, but he straightened the moment the door creaked.

‘How did it go?’, he asked.

‘I’m going to stop taking the Calming Draught’, Yuuri said.

‘Just like you wanted’, Harry nodded to himself. He offered Yuuri his arm; Yuuri was not in the state to Apparate safely on his own. They disappeared and reappeared with a crack in front of Yu-topia Katsuki. It looked lovely, crowned by cherry blossom and soft afternoon sunlight, but the conversation with the Healer drained Yuuri too much to admire them.

‘Tell me what you need, Yuuri’, Harry said. ‘I’ll help any way I can’.

Yuuri stopped in his tracks.

‘But why?’, he asked. ‘We talked about it yesterday – I’m withdrawing from the competition for the rest of the year. You don’t have to stay. You’re not my coach anymore’.

Harry smiled.

But I’m your friend’, he answered. ‘Aren’t I?’.

 

***

 

Yuuri’s withdrawal from all the competitions proved to be easy. Two days after his visit to Healer Sasaki, Harry issued an official statement in which he informed of Yuuri’s decision to drop out for the rest of the season due to unspecified health problems.

‘You don’t owe them any details about your private life’, he said, more fiercely than Yuuri expected. ‘It’s your life. Let them wonder. You don’t need to explain anything’.

Yuuri thought that some of the fans of duelling would probably speculate he’d suffered an injury. It felt like the cowardly way out, but it made him breathe easier to think that his panic attacks would not be leaked to the public. As far as they knew, nobody had seen Yuuri in Kashgar – nobody other than Yurio and Phichit, both of whom would keep schtum. Harry then met up with Cho and together they made sure Yuuri’s paperwork was in order.

And that was it.

It was the withdrawal Yuuri went through later that caused more problems.

‘It’s not exactly like drug withdrawal’, Healer Sasaki had explained. ‘We call it discontinuation syndrome. We’re going to cut back your dose slowly so your body has time to get used to it. Now, even with such precautions, you may experience some problems if you stop taking the Calming Draught. Usually, it’s not that common. It may happen, it may not, but if it does it’s probable that it won’t be pleasant at all’.

The fact that Yuuri had been relying on his homebrewed Calming Draught, which had not been as good as a professional’s, was not helping matters. Yuuri’s whole body soon grew fatigued, as if he hadn’t slept for days, as if he had been dragging himself through a bog.

‘It’s almost like the flu’, Yuuri complained. ‘Only worse’.

His head felt heavy on his shoulders, the headache always present in his temples, dull and tense and pulsing – and sick and weak, but at least at home and slightly more at peace, Yuuri hoped it was all worth it.

 

***

 

Yuuri’s Muggle clothes made him feel a bit on edge. There wasn’t anything wrong with them, but he got unused to wearing anything other than his robes. His jeans and T-shirt were brand new and smelt faintly of detergent.

He didn’t know what to expect from the therapist’s office, but at least the waiting room was warm if not cosy – Yuuri could not see it too well, though. Nervous, he took his glasses off and fiddled with them as he sat in the waiting room.

Mari put her hand over his, stopping Yuuri’s jittery movements.

‘Hey, little brother’, she said, keeping her voice low even though they were the only ones in the room. ‘You know we can go back home. You don’t have to do it’.

Yuuri looked at their hands. Mari’s nails were painted black, the polish coming off, slightly chopped – Yuuri vaguely recalled she’d been to a rock concert a couple of days ago and must have dressed for the occasion. She was usually too practical to wear any makeup in the onsen. Yuuri blinked, suddenly aware how much he’d become distant from Mari. He turned his gaze towards her, taking in her black rock band shirt, possibly something she’d bought at the gig, and noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the way she knitted her brows in a worried frown.

‘No’, Yuuri said. ‘I should’.

In many ways, duelling was easier than this; on the platform, he was sure of his footsteps, of the array of his spells. Facing an opponent was something Yuuri had grown – had learnt – to love. Competition, of course, could be studied, movements could be analysed, taken apart and reacted to.

But now – Yuuri didn’t know how to face someone who was there not to fight him but to help him. As he entered the office, hastily putting his glasses back on and leaving Mari behind, Yuuri couldn’t help but bite his lips nervously.

Now that he could see clearly, he noticed that the office was just as comfortable as the waiting room. The interior did not put him at ease, though. The therapist moved to welcome him with a polite bow; Yuuri thought she looked well in the office, which was as cheerful as colourful as her yellow and green clothes. He’d imagine someone in crisp shirts and black and blue, but Ayano Tamako wore bright cheerful colours. Only her glasses had black rectangular frames which would make her appear more serious if not for the glint in her brown eyes.

‘Mr Katsuki’, she greeted him, ‘please sit down. How are you today?’.

Yuuri sat on the edge of the armchair. It was so soft that he almost sank into it, but nervousness kept him from relaxing his shoulders.

‘I’m fine’, Yuuri said, automatically. The therapist’s face maintained its neutral, open expression, but Yuuri realized immediately that what we said was not true. ‘No, I’m sorry’, he said. It really was like duelling; you had to say the right thing the way you had to cast the right spell. ‘I thought I should come here but maybe I shouldn’t have’.

He fiddled with his glasses again, almost wishing himself out of the room. He’d Apparate away, only he was in a non-magical office, with a person from a magical family, but who was non-magical herself, and spells became too exhausting anyway. It was easier to look at Ayano when her face was blurred and Yuuri could only see the black of her short hair. He answered, dutifully, but without elaborating too much, when she asked a few questions. Yuuri told her about what had been happening to him – and it was difficult to let his guard down, as if he dropped his Protego a moment too soon. He was thankful for Mari’s quiet presence on the other side of the door. He was waiting for the moment a spell – or a word – would hit him.

It never came.

 

***

 

‘I got homework’, Yuuri said.

‘Boy’, Phichit whistled. ‘I thought you graduated so you didn’t have to deal with that shite’.

Phichit had talked Celestino into dropping him off at Yuuri’s in the evening and promised to Floo back just in time for his morning training. Hiroko had seen it as her opportunity to give them both more food than they could stomach, so they still sat at the kitchen table two hours later, talking. The onsen had closed for the night and the house was mostly quiet. They could hear faint grumble of rock music from Mari’s room and some murmurs of conversation going on between Yuuri’s parents and Harry, but there was no usual hustle and bustle. Yuuri hadn’t realized how much he missed all of that when he’d been away in competitions or back at Mahoutokoro.

‘Not that kind of homework’, Yuuri said.

Phichit had only submitted an essay on time once, and only because he’d lost a bet and had to write it.

‘Still sucks’, he commented now, stuffing his face with some dorayaki. ‘These are divine, Yuuri, your parents have outdone themselves this time. Almost better than katsudon’.

‘Almost’, Yuuri agreed. ‘I just need to read a book on this kind of therapy I’m having’, he explained. ‘And ask questions about it’.

‘At least it’s not one of those dry bulky things Celestino made us read’, Phichit shrugged. ‘Remember that one guy who didn’t let his diagrams be animated so we had to decipher all the wand movements from tiny arrows which made no sense?’.

Yuuri nodded. It was easy, talking to Phichit – easier than talking to Ayano before, but that came as no surprise.

‘I hated these’, he said emphatically. ‘Harry never made me read. He just showed me more spells’.

‘I envy you’, Phichit said. ‘By the way, Minami’s been asking after you – he was worried when you withdrew’.

Yuuri didn’t know Minami that well; the younger wizard was still at Mahoutokoro and took part in Junior duelling competitors, where he’d made friends with Phichit. To Yuuri’s astonishment, his friend claimed Minami looked up to him. Yuuri thought it was a joke.

‘Tell him I say hi’, he said. ‘And thanks for asking. I’m getting better’.

Phichit looked like he was going to say something else, but finally, his face cleared and he nodded.

‘Will do’.

‘He’s...’, Yuuri started. ‘He’s not the only one asking about it’.

‘I’d say so’, Phichit says. ‘You’re a great duellist, Yuuri, of course people are curious. And concerned. The entire Mahoutokoro will be talking about it for weeks to come’.

‘You’re not helping’, Yuuri sighed. ‘Nikiforov wrote to me’.

‘No shit’, Phichit exclaimed. He dropped his food. ‘Yuuri! You should’ve told me sooner’.

Yuuri shrugged.

‘I haven’t read it’, he admitted. ‘It’s still on my desk. I’m not sure I can read it, Phi’.

‘Like, what, is it in Russian?’, Phichit asked. ‘Yuuri. You should just open it. I’m curious’.

Of course Phichit would be curious – or he wouldn’t be Phichit, Yuuri thought fondly.

‘It’s not in Russian’, he said. ‘At least I don’t think so’.

‘Well’, Phichit grabbed another bite. ‘What are you waiting for?’.

 

***

 

‘I miss Mahoutokoro’ murmured Mari. ‘Everything was simpler then’. She was holding a cigarette between her teeth. Yuuri watched as her face got enveloped in a cloud of greyish smoke. He coughed. ‘I didn’t have to hide from dad to smoke. I’m an adult, for god’s sake’.

‘You had to hide from the teachers. And dad doesn’t like it when you smoke’, Yuuri said. Mari’d Transfigured a bench so it felt softer against their backsides as they sat outside in the night. Yuuri couldn’t sleep; Mari craved a cigarette. ‘I don’t like it, either’.

‘My life, my lungs’, Mari shrugged. She went through Muggle cigarettes like Yuuri used to go through Calming Draughts. ‘Don’t get started on the passive smoking thing, little brother. I charmed this thing. Your virgin lungs are safe from harm’.

‘Yours are not’, Yuuri pointed out. It was chilly outside, but he revelled in the sing-song of cicadas. Mari could cast a Warming Charm if she wanted.

‘Little brother’, Mari said. Yuuri recognized the tone as the one she always used to mock-lecture him about his life, the universe, and everything in between. ‘Virginity is just a social construct’.

They had never talked about it. Yuuri didn’t answer, instead letting the cicadas wash their song over their heads like a spell. Mari smoke loose circles around them and chased them lazily with her wand, an old habit from her Mahoutokoro days.

 ‘You know’, Mari said. ‘You never even told me if you’d ever had someone’.

It was as if this sentence put more and less distance between them at the same time. Mari had never been private about her boyfriends, mentioning them in her letters and bringing them home, but Yuuri kept his feelings close to his heart.

He hadn’t dated anyone since Mahoutokoro, and even before, the few relationships he’d had were casual at best. The Korean duellist he’d met at a competition once replied to fewer and fewer of his letters before she stopped completely, and Yuuri let himself remember Seung-hye without regret, but maybe with a touch of sadness. And then there had been Kaito, with dreams that didn’t involve a boyfriend who’d fly out to duelling competitions abroad multiple times a year – but with dreams that did involve wizards who stayed close to him at Mahoutokoro.

Yuuri mulled Mari’s words over.

‘There wasn’t anything to say’, he replied.

‘Is there now?’, Mari asked, looking at Yuuri with something in her eyes that promised mischief. Cigarette smoke surrounded her head like a halo.

Yuuri thought back to the duelling platform. An image ran through his mind, not too fast for Yuuri to catch it, but fleeting enough all the same. He considered it and then shrugged.

 

***

 

‘You’re describing a lot of important things’, Ayano said. ‘You’ve been feeling sad, anxious, unsure, unworthy’.

‘Yeah’, Yuuri said.

Somehow, meeting by meeting, minute by minute, Ayano managed to crack Yuuri’s shell open. He did not relax completely – he felt the tension in the neck, his muscles stiff and heavy, and it was just so _odd_ to lay his heart bare and show it to a stranger. But Yuuri spoke – in short, uneven sentences, but he spoke.

‘Yuuri’, Ayano said. ‘May I call you Yuuri?’.

Yuuri nodded.

‘What you just described – these situations lead to a certain kind of feeling. What do they make you feel?’.

Her voice was kind, almost soothing, like a cup of green tea. Yuuri forced himself to stop fidgeting.

Yuuri took a deep breath and then he talked.

His voice croaked, as if he hadn’t had anything to drink, as if there was something stuck in his throat. It made the experience raw and much harder than Yuuri would’ve imagined, even though he’d assumed it would not be easy at all. But he talked – of what it was like to lie in bed in the middle of the night and feel restless, breathless, in an entirely bad way – of what it was like to wake up in the morning and feel unworthy to step onto the platform and face the best duellists of his generation – of what it was like to look at Viktor Nikiforov’s face and see, clearly like in the mirror, nothing but dismissal and contempt.

‘I’m not good enough to fight against him’, Yuuri said. He’d just shared with Ayano what had happened in Sochi. ‘I want to be better – but he can see through me, they can all see through me – I shouldn’t be there’.

There was no judgment in Ayano’s eyes, and that perhaps was more than Yuuri had hoped for.

 

***

 

April blossomed into May. Yuuri’s days rolled into a routine he embraced for the comfort it brought him. He slept in late – not too late. He helped around the onsen. He went with Harry to see Ayano every week. He always came back with homework. He slept with Lumos at night. He went to Minako’s studio sometimes, when it was empty – Minako would teach Hasetsu children little magic and Yuuri danced. He danced away.

He now read the letter from Nikiforov every night. He never wrote back.

He took smaller and smaller doses of the Calming Draught.

Anxiety still hit him. It was not as easy as to just pray it away; it trod on him with a grace of a giant. He talked about it with Ayano. He danced a bit more. He took the old pieces of himself apart one by one and there was no easy way to put them back together. There was also no easy way to throw them out or replace them.

Minako caught him once when he had just finished a routine and Rachmaninoff still resounded in the air. Yuuri panted. He’d extorted himself in practice this time – dance felt almost like duelling, only even more physical, magic-less.

‘You’re exhausted’, she said. Yuuri knew her well enough to know she was going to bring him home herself if he didn’t stop practising now.

‘Oh, Yuuri’, she sighed when he didn’t reply. They hadn’t talked much since his return from Kashgar, but Yuuri knew that either his parents or Harry were keeping Minako in the loop. He was glad she hadn’t pushed him to talk about anything. ‘You always dance so beautifully’, Minako continued.

Yuuri stared. That was not what he expected.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve been watching you and maybe I shouldn’t have. But Yuuri, there’s just something about this dance – maybe you don’t need to deconstruct yourself. Maybe you need to reconstruct’.

 

***

 

‘Let’s go back for a moment’, Ayano suggested. ‘For now, I don’t want to know what you feel it is that Nikiforov sees, Yuuri. Tell me rather – how do you feel about the situation in Sochi?’.

‘Well’, Yuuri said, and he was startled enough that the question threw him off the loop. He might have shared with her more than he realized – or, perhaps, too little. ‘I didn’t like it’.

‘Yes’, Ayano nodded. ‘It did seem that you did not like it. When you said you had this idea that you were not good enough to make it to Sochi – what evidence do you have of that?’.

Yuuri did not have to let his mind wander far. Ayano listened, letting him speak, asking little questions to clarify if he got carried away – and it was odd. Yuuri would never let himself be so out of control on a platform. Maybe this wasn’t so similar to duelling after all.

‘Yuuri’, Ayano finally said. ‘You’re talking about your feelings during the competition. I’m thankful you’ve shared them, but I’d still like you to answer my initial question’.

That was different; Yuuri stopped.

‘So you said you weren’t feeling good enough to compete there?’.

‘Right’, Yuuri said.

‘How do you get to Sochi if you want to compete there?’.

Yuuri didn’t have to think about the answer. That was easy. He’d fretted about his qualifiers so much.

‘You score points’, Yuuri said. ‘When you win, you score points, throughout the season. The season ends in November, and then the last competition is in December, and that was Sochi’.

‘How many points did you need to get to go to Sochi?’.

Yuuri waved his hand vaguely.

‘It varies how well the others will do. Only six people make it to this competition every year’.

‘ Tell me if I understand you, Yuuri. Six people with the highest number of points?’, Ayano clarified.

Yuuri nodded.

‘Did you make it to the final six, then?’.

Yuuri fidgeted.

‘Well’, he started, ‘yeah, but you see – I didn’t deserve to be there’.

***

 

Harry disappeared for a few days in early May. He didn’t talk about it, and Yuuri didn’t ask, but he knew the Battle of Hogwarts took place on May the 2nd. Harry returned soon enough, appearing in the kitchen in the morning like usual, only the circles under his eyes were more prominent. When Yuuri saw him, Harry looked up from the British newspaper he’d been reading; there were coffee stains all over the page. He smiled tiredly. He didn’t stop waving his hand in a lazy display of wandless magic, stirring his coffee without a spoon or a wand.

‘Hi’, he just said. ‘I brought some sweets from Hogsmeade, and Teddy sent you a card, too’.

He summoned everything with a silent spell and then watched as Yuuri sifted through the package.

‘Thanks’, Yuuri said. ‘You didn’t have to. How are you?’.

Harry closed the newspaper shut.

‘Fine’, he answered. ‘It’s... good to be back here’.

Yuuri finally put the package away. He began to fix himself something to eat, his movements still sleepy, automatic.

‘I met with Luna in Scotland’, Harry continued. ‘But she’s coming back here to research her creatures. She said she’d sent you a letter?’.

Yuuri nodded. It had baffled him even more than Nikiforov’s, so filled was it with foreign names of creatures he’d never heard about. Luna’s letter, though, was warm and kind, and full of encouragement and advice Yuuri was not quite sure how to follow.

‘She told me to tell you that you should send replies to letters soon’, Harry said. ‘Nargles are drawn to people who don’t’.

‘What are Nargles?’, Yuuri asked, taking the first bite of his breakfast.

‘I have no clue’, Harry said. ‘But from what Luna says, they’re rather clever’.

 

***

 

‘Could you answer a question for me, Yuuri?’, Ayano asked when he’d fallen silent and she’d talked a bit about the way his feelings led to his thoughts. Yuuri nodded – it was all he’d been doing in the past fifty minutes.

‘Let’s say I give you rose-tinted glasses. What would this room look like?’.

‘Pink’, Yuuri said.

‘Good. So now consider this – if I give you blue-tinted glasses’, she started, putting a lot of intonation on the word blue, ‘and then show you my yellow blouse, what colour will it be?’.

‘Green’, Yuuri said. ‘Blue and yellow give you green’.

Ayano shook her head.

‘It looks green. But what colour is the blouse?’.

‘It’s still yellow’, Yuuri understood.

Ayano brightened, her smile easy, like a sunflower.

‘Yes, exactly. It looks green but it doesn’t make it green. It’s still really yellow. How we see a situation matters. We may see it as worse than it really is’.

 

_***_

_Mr Nikiforov,_

_Thank you for your letter._

_Unexpected though they were, your words were kind and I appreciate your message._

_It was a memorable experience to duel with you and I’m glad for the opportunity._

_Please excuse my late reply. I was not able to write to you sooner._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Katsuki Yuuri_

 

***

 

Yurio Floo-called one late evening, his face twisted in a grimace. Yuuri knelt in front of the irori, comfortable even as their conversation grew longer and longer and the world outside darkened into the night. 

‘Practice is shite’, Yurio said. It didn’t even sound like a complaint, more like a statement. ‘Do you lunge into the Sea Urchin Jinx?’.

Yuuri blinked.

‘I don’t’.

‘What? What do you mean _you don’t?_ ’, Yurio all but snarled. ‘Yakov’s been making me lunge for three days and I still don’t get it’.

‘I don’t think the wand movement is right for lunging’, Yuuri said carefully. ‘I take a small step, I think. If you consider the way your hand will move – I think it’s actually more natural to step aside’.

‘You should just coach me instead of Yakov’, Yurio grumbled. ‘Your step sequences are better anyway, even Nikiforov has to agree with that and he’s an asshole’.

‘Nikiforov?’, Yuuri repeated. The word made a strange thing to his stomach; he tried to push the feeling back and did not succeed in the slightest. ‘You talked to Nikiforov about my step sequences? Really?’.

‘He mentioned them first, okay? So for once I had to agree with him, of course you’re better, Katsudon, and I had to shove it into his face. He’s been even more of a dick than usual, and it’s been going on for _months._ At least he’s not showing me so many pictures of his precious dog anymore. Maybe he finally got it through his thick skull that I’m a cat person. No offense to Lumos, Yuuri _’_.

‘None taken’, Yuuri sighed. He got up and stretched in one slow, feline movement. ‘Let’s not talk about him. I don’t even know what to think. I left my wand upstairs but I’ll show you how I do the movements for that jinx’.

‘Could you show me that feint you did in the duel against Otabek, too? The one after your double Depulso. I missed it but Mila said it was cool’.

Yuuri went through the familiar movements slowly, without a word.

 

***

_Dear Mr Katsuki,_

_Please excuse the awkwardness of this letter. I find it more and more difficult to figure out what to call you. I recall that I used your given name in my first letter to you, but you seem to be more formal. My own language has its own words for such things, but I never could get the hang of it in English. I apologize if I offended you._

_I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you, too. Your letter reached me during a practice camp in the middle of Siberia where I was not allowed to read my post. My coach seems to think I’m easily distracted. It was wonderful to get a reply from you, even though I could only read it more than a week later._

_Please do not be sorry about writing to me after some time had passed. Whatever reasons you had for withdrawing this season, I’m sure they are serious enough. Nobody chooses to leave the duelling platform lightly. I’m grateful for any response from you at all._

_The other day I watched one of our duels in the Pensieve. I’d like to discuss it with you if you’re willing. Your use of the arrow spell really astonished me back then. I’ve watched it more than once since then and it’s still amazing. Is it a Japanese spell? Vernacular magic is so fascinating and I know next to nothing about yours._

_Looking forward to hearing from you!_

_Best wishes,_

_Viktor Nikiforov_

 

 

_Mr Nikiforov,_

_If you don’t mind, you may call me Yuuri._

_Thank you for the letter. I hope you had a great duelling session – we heard about your instructor’s infamous camps even here. Yuri Plisetsky tells me that the one in Tver last year was especially challenging._

_You’re asking about the Arrow Spell, but I’m not sure there is much to tell. Similar spells exist in many other cultures, as I’m sure you know. I prefer this one because I feel closer to it. The incantation differs, of course, as well as the wand movement. The kind of duelling that we practice is western-focused; the rules are different than the rules I know from the duels I’d fight Japanese style, using our own kind of magic. I would be surprised if you hadn’t noticed any differences himself – Russian magic must be different, too._

_Good luck in Alexandria next week. I think the competition will be vicious there._

_I look forward to your reply._

_Your sincerely,_

_Katsuki Yuuri_

 

 

_Dear Yuuri!_

_You should call me Viktor, then! Or you could just use my surname if you prefer. Some people do. Usually when they’re angry with me._

_Little Yura is as frisky as always, then. I’m glad he’s got a friend in you but I have to say it’s surprising. He doesn’t usually enjoy being with other people unless he can beat them. That’s why he doesn’t get along with me. I’m still fond of him – he’s rather amusing._

_You are, of course, right to say that Russian spells differ from those from the west of Europe. We rarely use Latin incantations – old Slavic words will do, and there are also spells which come from Greece. A lot of old charms are rooted in Old Church Slavonic but they’re rather peaceful. I have little use for them on the platform so I can’t tell you much. It actually could be quite surprising to see them used in a duel. Maybe that’s something I should look into._

_The spells I learnt thanks to my mother are not Slavic. Her people – the Mari – are Finno-Ugric, and their culture differs a lot. I’m very fond of it and of these spells. They are mostly rooted in nature, in simple things, but the results are spectacular and easily adaptable. You could see it first-hand when I attacked you with that thunderstorm. Your response to it was spectacular, Yuuri. I’m still very impressed. Usually, my opponents have a much harder time reacting to it. I hadn’t known you knew the Patronus Spell! Does it have a corporeal form, too?_

_In fact I, didn’t know you can defend yourself with the Patronus against the storm. I need to look into that._

_What draws me to Japanese magic is that it seems to have something in common with both my mother’s spells and Old Church Slavonic – a certain calmness, only it may come from a different source. Some of our spells just have calming – or calm – effects. Yours seem to rely on the caster’s deep focus or peace of mind to be successful. Watching you cast it is simply breathtaking._

_Thank you for your congratulations! The duels were not as enjoyable as our last one – I still watch it at least a week, Yuuri, you moved as if you were dancing – but I spent some time with Chris Giacometti, which was fun. I think you know Chris from Juniors?_

_Alexandria was great though, especially the library. The Muggle part is modern, but the old wizarding one makes you feel so humbled – it’s like stepping into an older world. I did some research there. I’m sending you a bookmark from there – I didn’t know what to get you, and this one has charms on it. Let’s make it a game – I wonder if you can find out what they are._

_I’m going to do a duelling show in Izhevsk later this week so excuse me if I don’t reply soon. I’ll write you once I  come back. I’m not really happy about the show – I don’t feel like travelling so much, nowadays – but at the same time, Saint Petersburg does not feel much like home._

_Best wishes,_

_Viktor_

_Viktor,_

_I’m sorry it took me so long to reply. Things are a bit hectic here, for lack of a better word. Not that I’ve been busy now, without the duels to keep me occupied, but at the same time, a lot of things have happened. I think by now you must have returned back home. Was your show successful?_

_Do not belittle Yuri so. He works hard and he’s one of the most talented wizards I’ve met. You’re not only mocking his talent but also his dedication, and that’s just cruel and thoughtless. No wonder you two don’t get along if you treat him like that. I think Yuri could learn a great deal from you if you tried to befriend him instead of patronising him._

_My Patronus is corporeal, yes. I won’t tell you what it is. Do you know how to cast it?_

_I never heard of Old Church Slavonic. Yuri says these spells are not used often nowadays. He was rather surprised you took time to learn them._

_You are essentially right about Japanese magic. Emotions are extremely important, as is a great sense of self-awareness, which is why some of our more traditional branches of magic are so difficult to master. Most of foreign spells came to us in the Meiji period. My grandmother, who is a traditionalist, still relies on our own magic more. She’s a very intense person, really perceptive. I think it comes with having to be in touch with your own mind and magic all the time. There’s a lot of symbolism everywhere._

_My best friend, who is also a duellist, Phichit Chulanont, comes from a family who would use almost exclusively Thai spells. His mother, especially, is a real master. Phichit is really into western magic, though, but his insight into Thai spells is fascinating. I think this sport could use more emphasis on various magical traditions – this would make duelling even more exciting and unpredictable. I think I’d like to try to change it in the future._

_My coach says that Alexandria’s library is unparalleled – I’m glad you could make use of it. Thank you for the bookmark – you didn’t have to get me anything._

_Harry used to study in Egypt, you know. It’s quite easy to pick up some Curse Breaking and Spell Creation from him – your little game was amusing but not as difficult as you probably thought. I didn’t even use my wand. The Skimming Spell was quite thoughtful, though. It’s good for research. Thank you again._

_Best wishes,_

_Yuuri_

_Dear Yuuri,_

_How are you nowadays? Is your life still as busy as you told me in your last letter? There is no news about you other than what little you tell me in your letters. For a busy person, you’re awfully elusive – but I suppose it’s your private life that keeps you this way. Christoph tells me I’m nosy and shouldn’t pry, and Yuri says I should stop writing to you altogether, which I will if you ask me to._

_I took me long to write to you again, but I’m back in Saint Petersburg now and I’m going to stay here for a longer time. Hopefully, my answers won’t take this long to reach you again. Thank you for asking about the show. It was good – I actually hadn’t visited Izhevsk before._

_I’m sorry about Yuri. You’re right. I’ll try to be a better friend to him, if that’s what he wants, or a better rival. I’m not very good with people, especially not in the last months._

_I admit I don’t know the Patronus Spell. We don’t get Dementors here in Russia. Nobody would release them in a duel, either, so I didn’t think it was important to learn. I’ve been reconsidering it ever since you used it to control the thunderstorm. It was really inspiring – all your duels are, really. It even makes me forgive you for withholding your Patronus’ form from me._

_Give your friend Phichit my best. I enjoyed duelling against him. He’s got a really fresh perspective and a quick mind._

_So... are you planning to revolutionise the approach to competitive duelling in the future? That’s quite ambitious – and I’d love to see it, Yuuri. This sport needs it, and you’re the right person to do it._

_I think I’d like to teach, myself. It sounds really fulfilling. I envy you a bit, you know – to work with Harry Potter is a dream. Is it as good a coach as he’s rumoured to be? I mean – of course he is, just look at you, even though you’ve got a lot of pure talent anyway – but Yakov says that Potter has a good head on his shoulders and that’s a lot, coming from him._

_I’m glad you found the little bookmark amusing! It’s amazing how you cracked the spells without your wand – it’s cherry wood, isn’t it? – I didn’t even think it was possible!_

_I spend a lot of time nowadays wandering around Saint Petersburg, and thought I could send you something from the city. We get a lot of amber from the Baltic here. It’s as golden as your robes and it reminded me of you._

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

_PS. I watched your Kashgar duels again. You really should have gotten gold._

_Dear Viktor,_

_Thank you, I’m fine – or I will be. I’m  just glad I took the rest of the season off. How are you doing?_

_There isn't any news about me because there is no news. I’ve been helping my family a lot. They run an onsen – that’s a hot spring – and it’s not really anything that would make its way into magazines. I’m only interesting as long as I win or lose, but not when I clean the baths._

_You shouldn’t apologize to me about Yuri. I’m not him._

_So there is a spell the great Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t know? Imagine what the tabloids could do with this juicy piece of gossip. Maybe if you master the spell, you’ll get to know my Patronus._

_Thank you for the amber. You surprised me. I didn’t expect to receive anything from you again, especially not such a gift. You seem to be fond of gold yourself, or so tells me your recent choice in the hems of your robes. It surprised me on the platform, too._

_I’m sending you some ukiyo-e prints in return. I picked my favourites; it’s a style of art I love, and these prints show Japanese wizards and witches. I thought you might like them, given your interest._

_I think you read too much into my duels. They were not that great. Thank you nonetheless. I appreciate it – but medals are not all that matters. I’m beginning to learn that._

_Take care,_

_Yuuri_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [HQ_Wingster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster) made this amazing [audio](https://joey-wingster.tumblr.com/post/165312227886/i-read-a-harry-potter-x-yuri-on-ice-fanfic) for Cherry Wood and I'm blown away by this beautiful recording!
> 
> So... I said there would be an update in 2-3 weeks but apparently I suck at estimating my own writing speed. So enjoy this chapter a bit early! I was really excited to finally writing and move into a bit less angsty direction.  
> A few notes cause I'm a nerd:  
> \+ this is aggressively unbetaed and barely edited cause I was too excited to wait before I posted it, so if you find any wandering semicolons or other stuff that bothers you, feel free to let me know  
> \+ Old Church Slavonic is a real language; it's also the first literary Slavic language. I had an unfortunate brush with it which made me question my knowledge of linguistics and my own intellectual capacity. It's really difficult, but it's fascinating, and if you wanna learn more [here](https://www.britannica.com/topic/Old-Church-Slavonic-language) is the link to the Britannica entry  
> \+ Yuuri's therapy is based on CBT, which I have no personal experience with. I based it mostly on various instructions for therapists that I unearthed on youtube - some sentences are shamelessly adapted to fit Yuuri, including the one with the glasses and the way we see the world, which I think suited him well. I'm sorry if it's inaccurate - I did my best.  
> \+ [Here](https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/art-asia/art-japan/edo-period/a/the-evolution-of-ukiyo-e-and-woodblock-prints) you can find more information about ukiyo-e, which is absolutely brilliant and also one of my favourite art styles.  
> +there's a lot of amber in the Baltic sea, which makes it a popular souvenir. It comes in lots of colours, golden being one of them. St Petersburg is one of the places which are quite famous for it so it wouldn't be an unusual gift - depending on the kind and size of the amber, it might not even be that pricey. (This is probably too much information but I'm an amber nerd)
> 
> [eternalsunshine13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13) was absolutely wonderful and helped me a lot when I tried to solve a plot thingy that gave me lots of trouble, and she deserves all the love, thank you! 
> 
> [Zei](http://zeilena.tumblr.com) continues being incredible and came up with a nice name for Yuuri's therapist <3
> 
>  
> 
> And lastly - thank you all for all the comments and kudos, it's amazing to know that you're enjoying this story, and it gave me so much motivation to write this chapter. I'm looking forward to hear what you think about this one, too, and if you'd like to chat more about Yuuri and Viktor or other things, I'm chilling [here on tumblr](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com).


	9. Chapter 9

 

The duelling platform didn’t feel any different.

Maybe it was Yuuri’s muscle memory, awakened by the old wood beneath his feet. Maybe it was the leather shoes, soft and dependable just like he remembered. Or maybe Yuuri hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought.

‘Do you want to duel?’, Yuuko asked. She was sitting in a transfigured chair, waving her wand around to charm some toys for her triplets. Yuuri looked at an enchanted dragon and shook his head.

‘No’, he said. ‘but thanks. Not today’.

‘Suit yourself’, Yuuko answered, although Yuuri saw the glint in her eyes and it was far too knowing for his liking. She was one of his oldest friends, and one of the most dependable, and one of the things Yuuri could rely on was her empathic nature. ‘And here I thought I would be nice and let you win this time’.

They shared a smile, Yuuri’s a bit more hesitant than usual. Yuuko hadn’t won against Yuuri in years. It was a running joke they shared. Somehow her quick smile now made Yuuri feel more at ease.

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to come here. He was nowhere near ready to step back into the duelling halls at Mahoutokoro, but the almost-forgotten, long-familiar tingling in his fingertips made him antsy to face a challenge on the platform again.

He hadn’t duelled since Kashgar, since April.

It was August now. Through the tiny window, Yuuri could see the sun already glowed with that sharper, golden hue shared only by late summers and early autumnal days. It was August, and the last time Yuuri duelled had been more than three months ago.

He hadn’t cast any spells for weeks after that.

His cherry wand was still put away in the bottom desk drawer, the one place Yuuri kept tidy but out of sight. He tried not to think about it. He carried on, day after day, helping out at the onsen, going to his therapy sessions, reading – books, letters, and replying to letters – and somehow it was possible to live without magic and without duels, unthought-of as it was.

For long summer weeks, Yuuri stayed away: away from the competitions, away from the magical community, away from everything but the tried-and-true sleepiness of Hasetsu.

Hasetsu, with its seagulls and its waves continually hitting the shore in the rhythm that made Yuuri drowsy. The town always had this timeless, eternal quality that made it the same no matter the passage of the years. It lived at its own tempo, its cadence circular, no rises and falls. Within its loop, Yuuri felt as if in a bubble: everything inside stayed the same. The world moved on, invariably going forward. But Yuuri – Yuuri stayed.

He didn’t know what to think about it. He’d entered the competitions determined to prove his worth, to show once and for all that he could do better, aim higher, prove the others – prove Viktor – that they were wrong.

If there was one thing Yuuri hadn’t expected, it was that it would turn out like this: that the world would keep going, that the competitions would continue, but Yuuri would not be there. He watched them. He hadn’t, not at first when everything was raw and imperfect, but then he got bored of his own seclusion. Yuuri might be a dropout, but ignorant he was not.

He read about the competitions in the newspaper. He learnt all about Cao Bin’s unexpected withdrawal after an injury, and about Viktor Nikiforov’s mysterious fashion statement, black robes with hems golden, not blue. Yuuri knew all the buzz. He followed the competitions on the radio Wireless, or through Phichit and Harry, who both stayed in the loop. Yuuri felt a tad guilty about not tracking Phichit’s progress while his friend was still competing, but when he tried to apologise, Phichit just waved his concerns off.

‘You’re not my coach, Yuuri’, he said. ‘Chill, okay?’.

Yuuri tried – but he couldn’t say it was easy.

 

***

_Dear Yuuri!_

_How are you doing? Are you still writing the journal? That’s so admirable! I can never focus on one thing long enough to see any results and writing seems like a huge commitment. It’s amazing that you do it!_

_I can only ever concentrate on duelling, maybe because it’s so quick. You don’t have to dwell on anything, at least not when it actually matters. It’s kind of comforting._

_I made Yakov watch one of your competitions and he was really complimentary of your step sequences. Then he screamed about mine. He was not happy. Apparently I’m not ready for my upcoming duelling show. How do you do this thing when you pivot on one leg and then move into the opening for Relashio?_

_I’m back in Saint Petersburg for a few weeks. It feels strange. How is it to live in your town? I can only imagine it’s so different from Russia. Yura’s very fond of it but he won’t tell me much no matter how often I ask._

_To answer your question about Koldovstoretz, no, it’s not unplottable. There’s no need. There are some Muggle repellents in place but to be fair, the area is so remote and inhospitable that very few people come there, anyway. For some reason, tourists are interested in it but they very rarely end up anywhere near the school. Nature there is beautiful – harsh, but beautiful. A bit like duels, really. That’s why I like it._

_I’m sending you some postcards from Saint Petersburg. It’s not much, but I don’t have a camera so I never took any photos myself._

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

_Dear Viktor,_

_How are you doing?_

_Thank you for asking, I’m good. The journal is going well, too. I’m getting used to being more consistent. I think it may do me good. It’s not such a huge deal though. Lots of people keep journals. I’m sure you’d be great at it if you started one, too._

_I think I think too much. The journal helps to keep my mind in check. And you could write whatever you want! Maybe keep a duelling journal and invent some moves?_

_Forcing your coach to watch my duels is not nice. No wonder he wasn’t very happy with you._

_The school is somewhere near Lake Baikal, then? Do you still train there?_

_Hasetsu is a sleepy town. Not much happens here. I get to do the same things every day. It’s a slow routine. You don’t even know how and when the time will pass. It’s nothing like your Saint Petersburg. There’s nothing grand here. Nothing worth taking pictures of. Having said that – I’m surprised you don’t own a camera. I’d think someone who travels as often as you do would like to snap some pictures._

_Obviously Saint Petersburg looks much more European than Japan. I don’t know these buildings, of course, but they all look very nice. It must be wonderful to take a stroll in winter there._

_Please try not to annoy your coach too much._

_Take care,_

_Yuuri_

  1. _I’m attaching a phial with my memory. See how I practised that step sequence._



_***_

‘So if Cao Bin drops out of the competition because of an injury, he’s doing the smart thing. If you do it, you’re a loser’.

Try as he might, Yuuri couldn’t quite read Ayano’s tone. It remained friendly, like everything about her, but Yuuri also knew her well enough by now to suspect the way she summed up his thoughts could only lead to questioning his entire mindset.

It was a bit like unlearning a flawed step sequence, really. On the platform, Yuuri practised and practised, until blisters enkindled his feet – only he rarely made mistakes with his steps, but often with his mind, and that – that was the real challenge.

‘Well, yes?’, he said now, and he had an inkling what was coming next.

‘Can you tell me about anything that would indicate this?’, Ayano asked.

‘Sure’, Yuuri said.

Could he?

 

***

_Dear Yuuri!_

_The owl that dropped off your letter looked exhausted. I wanted to let it stay with me overnight but it was determined to leave as soon as it got some water. It’s a fierce one._

_Are you still writing the journal? I haven’t started mine! I don’t think it would be a good fit. But I’ve been working on my Patronus like you said I should. I can get some mist out now. Is it enough to let me in on the secret? What’s your Patronus? You promised you’d tell me!_

_I didn’t force Yakov to watch your step sequences. I said they were superb and he agreed. He often makes me watch them! But it’s hard to focus just on your feet. Don’t get me wrong, you have great feet, Yuuri, but if I can watch all of you, it’s way better._

_I think you must be right about taking walks in the city. I haven’t done it in years so I can’t say. It’s freezing in winter, but in summer we get white nights – you could stay up until midnight and the sky would still be bright. There are concerts and ballet festivals then but I never go. I stay at home if I’m not performing for the wizarding community._

_The postcards show the most famous landmarks of Saint Petersburg – the Winter Palace (this is the one stormed by Bolsheviks during the 1917 Revolution!), Nevsky Prospekt, the view of the Moyka River. I used to read a lot about all of these – it’s fascinating, in a kind of morbid way. This is the city where beauty mixes with terror. I’d give a lot to feel the sleepiness of your Hasetsu one day._

_I never make memories fond enough to take pictures. I used to take pictures of my dog a lot but that’s it, and now I don’t even have a camera_ _._

_I don’t annoy my coach. Yuuri! Who do you take me for?_

_Yours (but offended),_

_Viktor_

 

_PS. Your step sequence is so perfect!_

_Dear Viktor,_

_I enjoy exchanging these letters with you, but please do not insult my intelligence. There is a reason the poor man started losing hair when he got you under his wing, and I’m sure this reason is not genetics. I’m taking you for who you are, Viktor Nikiforov. Of course you annoy your coach._

_The owl belongs to my sister, Mari. They have a very strong bond. She won’t stay at a stranger’s place if she can risk returning to Mari so don’t be surprised next time. Also, her name is Haruka but she will only react to it if she likes you._

_Congratulations on producing the mist. Yes, I’m still writing my journal. No, you won’t get to know my Patronus until you master yours._

_Ballet festivals? Sounds perfect. I do ballet in my free time but I’m nowhere near professional. It must be an amazing thing to see live in Saint Petersburg, of all places. I often heard your ballet is the best._

_I knew nothing about the history of your city and had to look it up in the encyclopaedia. It does sound morbid. I think I know what you mean._

_Your dog? You never talk about your dog. I have one, too – Lumos. The fluffiest cutie in the world. The softest paws. The brownest beady eyes. I’ve attached a picture so you can see for yourself._

_Take care_

_Yuuri_

 

_PS.Have you heard that Cao Bin is taking the rest of the season off?_

 

***

 

Yurio arrived by the Floo network in the first week of August.

It was early in the morning. Yuuri still didn’t shake off the last droplets of sleep from his eyelashes. He was just taking the shower when the house’s wards warmed with the familiar touch signalling that a guest was coming. They hadn’t keyed to their private Floo anyone outside of the family other than Harry and Yurio, and then Harry added a friend or two; but  Yuuri could bet that his former coach was sitting in the kitchen as was his habit, nursing a cup of coffee too strong to taste good. His friends and family knew better than to call him in the mornings.

Yurio was it, then, although it was hard to imagine why.

Yuuri stepped out of the shower, towelling himself in a rush and haphazardly putting on his clothes. He rushed down the stairs and into the living room, where Yurio stood by the irori, angrily dusting off the Floo powder from his arms.

‘Finally’, he grumbled on noticing Yuuri. ‘Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here?’.

‘Not even five minutes’, Yuuri replied dryly. ‘I felt the wards activate. Wait – do you have a _cat_ in your pocket?’.

‘Don’t be so dumb. I can’t leave her alone, can I? And she’s really comfortable there. I put Engorging spells on the pocket’.

Yuuri sighed.

‘Mari’s gonna flip if she sees cat fur anywhere. You’re taking care of your cat on your own’.

‘Don’t be an idiot’, Yurio repeated. ‘You won’t even notice Potya’s here. I didn’t come here to turn you into a cat person, you’re a lost cause anyway’.

‘You didn’t come here—wait. Yurio. Why aren’t you at school?’.

‘Idiot’, Yurio growled, fondly. ‘It’s summer, can’t you see?’.

Summer. Yuuri almost forgot – but then again, Harry had travelled all the way to Hogwarts for Teddy Lupin’s graduation, and even had offered to bring Yuuri with him (“Teddy would love to see you again”). Yuuri finally refused. He longed to see the famed castle as much as he despised feeling like he was intruding.

‘Right’, he just said, because Yurio had a point, but it still didn’t explain why he suddenly came to Japan with a cat in tow. ‘Why are you here?’.

Yurio stared at him, blinking; the cat, slowly, did the same thing.

‘Give me food’, Yurio finally ordered. ‘I’ll tell you then. It’s a kinda long story’.         

 

***

 

Yuuri had grown so used to the inn that he didn’t notice anymore how strange it was to pass from its non-magical part and into the one occupied by Hasetsu wizards. It wasn’t as uninteresting for Yurio, who lingered on in the magicless interior, openly glaring at the screen loud football match broadcast on TV and at Toshiya, who waved at him cheerfully, completely unsurprised, and went back to cheering on his favourite team.

Sometimes it was easy to forget Yurio was Pureblood.

Yuuri gently steered Yurio away and into the magical part of the inn, careful not to touch Potya, who hissed at him from Yurio’s pocket. Funny how starry-eyed Yurio could get at simple things, Yuuri thought, and how unperturbed he seemed to be by others.

The ruckus from the magical part of the inn surpassed even the loud cheers from the Muggle part. Football matches could gather an enthusiastic audience, but wizards had an advantage of mayhem-producing wands that they liked to take out whenever Quidditch games were on. Hiroko had long banned most of the explosives but Yuuri was fairly sure Mari herself was keen on smuggling some of them into the room. She could get creative with those.

Yuuri didn’t recognize any of the teams that were playing. The game had dragged out from yesterday, the Seekers unable to catch the snitch, but the crowd at the inn did not become inattentive. Yuuri unthinkingly let his gaze sweep over the room, looking for Harry, who never missed a game, but the other man was not there.

‘Potter’s not here?’, Yurio asked.

Yuuri shrugged, leading them to the only empty table. There was a dirty mug on it, half-empty. Butterbeer, Yuuri noticed. Harry was the only one who drank it.

‘He said he’s got enough’, a voice said on his left, and Yuuri turned to Mari. She ruffled Yurio’s hair with a grin and then waved her wand, sending the mug to the kitchen. ‘Hey, kiddo. I think it’s his ex-girlfriend playing out there, right? The Chaser? Maybe he really doesn’t want to watch it’.

Holyhead Harpies had to be one of the teams, then. Yuuri knew little of Ginny Weasley, other than she was unbeatable as a player. Back when she had dated Harry, they tried to keep their relationship out of the spotlight. There were vague rumours about a feud with the Malfoy family – loud enough that they even reached them in Japan, to Yuuri’s utmost disbelief – but Yuuri himself suspected a canard. He’d seen Harry address letters to a Draco Malfoy before.

‘I’ll leave you to your scheming’, Mari said. ‘Yurio, good to see you. And hey, little brother – Luna sent an owl. She’s coming over soon. Let Harry know if you see him’.

She was off before Yuuri got a chance to answer. She cast a few spells on her way out to the kitchen and empty glasses rose up into the air and trailed after her like obedient ducks walking in a row.

‘She’s cool’, Yurio said.

Yuuri agreed. Mari let very little get under her skin, and her quiet, dependable presence was a warm constant in Yuuri’s childhood – and a wonder even now. He wished Yurio had a similar experience, but from what little he knew about the teenager’s private life, it was not as idyllic as Yuuri’s childhood in Hasetsu.

The table magically shrank when they sat by it so that it would fit two people perfectly. Yurio started at that, even getting out his wand, but then visibly relaxed. Behind him, Yuuri could see the excited crowd gathered around the Wireless. Ginny Weasley had just scored some points.

‘So’, he began, ‘not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here? Don’t you usually go to your grandfather for summer holidays?’.

‘I do’, Yurio scowled. ‘And it’s your fault I’m not with him. We usually go to his dacha, you see’.

Yuuri didn’t see. The term rolled off Yurio’s tongue with the unfamiliar click of a consonant, harsher than in English they both spoke.

‘Ugh’, Yurio grumped. ‘It’s like a cottage, okay? Sort of. Nevermind. It’s alright to go there and now I can’t cause you’re being an idiot and Nikiforov’s being an idiot and--’

‘Hold on’, interrupted Yuuri. ‘Nikiforov?’.

‘Don’t pretend to be surprised now’, Yurio snarled. ‘What’s the deal with you and the old man now? He won’t shut up about you. It’s gross’.

The wizards cheered loudly again, the clatter of plates and the whiz of magic swept over the inn. Yuuri let the noise surround him like a bubble. Yurio peered at him from under his long blond fringe, and Yuuri felt his cheeks grow redder and redder under the accusing weight of his gaze.

He’d been avoiding thinking about Viktor Nikiforov.

He’d been avoiding it – at least in between their frequently exchanged letters, at least in between rereading them and rewriting his replies before hastily posting them in early mornings, after the whole night of pondering. Viktor had first blasted into his life with the cataclysmic force that robbed Yuuri of his breath and then, slower, of his hatred, before settling into a routine that made him giddy, hopeful, and more than a bit puzzled.

And now Yurio was here, popping the sleepy bubble of Hasetsu and giving Yuuri a harsh wake-up call.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, Yuuri said. His face burnt but he wasn’t going to admit to anything, not in front of Yurio, not ever. ‘There’s no deal with him’.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, Yurio parroted back, his voice higher, mocking, ‘No deal with Nikiforov? So why would he send me here?’.

The Quidditch game continued on as if Yuuri’s world had not turned upside down.

‘Is it—it’s a joke, isn’t it?’, he finally said. He thought minutes must have passed, but there were moments when time became hard to measure, sticky, like syrup or molasses.

‘A joke?’, Yurio repeated. He seemed to be making a habit out of it. Yuuri wouldn’t even mind that much, only his friend soon flew into a rage. ‘A joke. This whole conversation is a joke. How can you say that--’, and he stopped, visibly restraining himself.

Yuuri waited. Yurio took a while; he then grasped his wand and cast a Silencing Spell around them, giving them more privacy. The noise from the inn still got in, but muffled, as if through a window.

‘Listen’, Yurio finally said. ‘I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you and I’m getting the idea that it’s none of my business, but Yuuri, if he does a single thing wrong – and I mean, it, _a single thing,_ you let me know and I’m gonna kick his sorry arse and drop him into Lake Baikal and it’s fucking cold there. I told him to leave you alone but obviously, he didn’t listen, the idiot’.

He fell silent, obviously waiting for Yuuri to say something, but Yuuri was rather unaccustomed to his friends offering to beat up his enemy-turned-friend-turned- _Idon’tknow_ for him.

‘Uhm’, he said. ‘Thanks?’.

‘You should thank me’, Yurio snarled. ‘He’s been pestering me for months, Katsudon. Months, do you get it?’, he let his voice change again into something higher and whimsical that was meant to sound insulting. ‘ _Yuratchka, let’s watch my memories of the duel with Yuuri! Yuratchka, did you know Yuuri plays Quidditch really well? Ooh, Yuuri knows how to cast the Patronus, he’s so smart!’._ Really, Yuuri, if I hadn’t known any better, I’d think you’re his boyfriend now’.

‘A boyfriend?’, Yuuri repeated, slowly, letting his disbelief sink into the vowels. ‘Me? You can’t be serious’.

‘Well, _I_ don’t think you can be serious getting all cosy with him’, Yurio’s voice was dry, ‘but here we are’.

‘We’re not getting _cosy’_ , denied Yuuri.

‘Aren’t you, now’, Yurio said. His voice was as flat as the surface of the ice. ‘Aren’t you. So why, tell me – why did he send me here to check if you’re doing alright?’.

If Yuuri had been confused before, this revelation rendered him incapable of thinking. He stared at Yurio, unblinking, unthinking, and increasingly confused.

Viktor Nikiforov turned out to defy his expectations. He was nothing like Yuuri had imagined. Nothing at all.

Many months and many letters after their initial, disastrous encounter in Sochi, Yuuri did not know what to think anymore. Back before the beginning of their correspondence, Yuuri had been dead set against Viktor and certain in his steely, steady hatred, defiant the way you can only be when you’re wronged and seeking retribution. Yuuri was ready to fight tooth and nail to prove his worth, to prove Viktor wrong, to crush him, but he began to crush himself in the process – and somehow, somewhere, Viktor still sneaked in through the cracks on Yuuri’s shell and stayed for good.

And Yuuri – Yuuri didn’t know what to think. The memory of Sochi burnt in his mind, in his heart, and under his eyelids. They did not talk about it. Yuuri didn’t know how to broach the subject. There was no right way to do it. A part of him wondered whether this would lead to Viktor leaving, to Viktor shutting himself off, and to Yuuri being left, again, with nothing but emotions entangled and yet with too many loose strings.

Viktor never talked about Sochi, either.

Yuuri didn’t understand. Meanings escaped him like spells that he couldn’t catch on his fingertips. Viktor never talked about Sochi, but he kept sending letter after letter, long-winded, personal, bordering on intimate, and Yuuri read them all. A part of Yuuri – the same part that prodded his brain in Sochi and in Quebec – demanded that he tapped into the long-familiar spark of hate. Only Yuuri was different now. Or at least he was trying to be different.

Viktor seemed to be trying to be something, too, although Yuuri could hardly believe that by _something_ Yurio understood _Yuuri’s boyfriend._

Not many people wanted to be Yuuri’s boyfriend, and he could bet that none of them were named Viktor Nikiforov. To think that of all people, Nikiforov would like to date Yuuri – the same man who had treated him as if he were a speck of dust – to think that was unimaginable.

‘You’ve just imagined it now if you could say it’, Yurio snorted. ‘Yuuri. Listen’, he started, and Yuuri suddenly got the impression that this was something people repeated to him a lot, ‘I want to crush him. You know I do. But if there’s one thing Nikiforov absolutely can’t do is to be fake. He’s much too air-headed for that. Too easily distracted. If he’s nice to you, then I think he’s being honest. Genuine’.

‘So you’re saying’, Yuuri replied, ‘that what he did in Sochi was genuine, too’.

Yurio tilted his head like a curious cat. Finally, he shrugged. The noise of the Quidditch match was still coming from the other side of the magical bubble.

‘What I’m saying, Katsudon, is talk to him instead of beating yourself up. And do it soon. He’s gonna bother me if you don’t’.

 

***

 

Harry reappeared the following morning. He went out for a run and returned just as Yuuri was walking Lumos outside. The dog jumped at the man, who momentarily brightened; suddenly, Yuuri was struck by how rarely his former coach smiled.

‘Are you happy?’, he blurted out, and then at once wished he could take it back.

‘Sort of?’, Harry answered, truthfully. He sent Yuuri a quick, but authentic-looking smile ‘Hermione’s been bothering me’.

That was not what Yuuri meant. Whether Harry realized that or not remained a mystery; the man soon disappeared inside the house, mumbling something about a shower and a competition, and leaving Yuuri confused. He thought he understood more of Lumos’ barking.

 

***

_Viktor,_

_You won’t believe it. A most amazing thing has happened today. You see – I was going through my morning routine as usual when I heard the wards of my home activate._

_Now, there are very few people who are authorized to Firecall directly to our living room, and most of them have no reason to do so. One of them is Harry Potter, who lives directly above it, and the other is my grandmother, who refuses to believe in western magic and avoids it at all costs. Some other people have access, too, but they usually Apparate._

_You know who else can Floo into our living room? Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri, who appeared in the morning and informed me that you told him to check up on me._

_Is it a joke? I thought our letters were just fine – there’s no need to force my friend to be your spy. Leave Yurio out of whatever problem you have with me. What do you want from me, Viktor, really?_

_Yuuri_

_Dearest Yuuri,_

_I never meant to insult you or to annoy you. I only wanted to make sure you’re okay._

_I tried not to ask that question before – but are you? There are rumours about why you withdrew this season, rumours that are worrying to hear. Some are borderline ridiculous – do you know you are in Alaska researching magical stones? – but the thing is: nobody knows anything. Well, Yura does, but he won’t tell._

_And I’m worried. Yura says you’re fine, but I think he’s just fed up with me cause I bother him too often. I’m good at that. He looks at me really strangely when I ask about you and tells me I’m just too much. He only agreed to see you when I said I’d go to Hasetsu myself. He wasn’t even supposed to tell you I sent him._

_You asked me what I wanted from you – and it’s simple, Yuuri. Really. I just want you to be yourself. Be happy._

_I’m sorry, Yuuri. I’m just worried. There are so many things we haven’t talked about._

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

 

_PS. I hope Yura hasn’t forgotten. He’s got something for you._

 

***

 

Yuuri tiredly levitated the dishes out of the magical room in the inn.

The Quidditch match still dragged on; it had been three days now. The same wizards gathered around the Wireless still listened on to the commentator. Yuuri knew that the inn closed for the night and they must have gone home, but they seemed to be glued to their seats as if with the Sticking Charm.

Harry had not set foot in the room for these three days. Yuuri didn’t pry – if Harry respected Yuuri’s privacy about his life and love, then he deserved the same. If Harry received more Firecalls than usual, Yuuri was not one to poke his nose or his wand where it didn’t belong.

Luna had arrived that morning, scaring Yuuri enough that he dropped his wand and the dishes he was sending off to the kitchen fell down with a clamorous crack. She had an exotic flower in her hair and an absent-minded expression on her face, and passed by Yuuri as if she hadn’t noticed him at all. Yuuri thought it might be true. Luna soon took to commenting the Quidditch game, with whimsical anecdotes such as the one about Ginny Weasley and the self-flying broom. Soon she gathered a befuddled crowd that made her unrivalled among Quidditch commentators. The Wireless still was on but people no more sat close to it. Once again, Yuuri experienced a strange feeling of existing outside of time, in a whimsical, magical place.

‘Is it what you’re doing nowadays?’, Yurio asked. ‘Dishes? Waiting on tables?’.

Yuuri’s brow furrowed.

‘There’s nothing wrong with that’, he pointed out.

Yurio’s angry gaze softened.

‘Of course not’, he said. He took out his wand and began to help Yuuri as if to prove the point, washing the dishes in a quite impressive display of silent casting. Not for the first time, Yuuri realized how talented his friend was. ‘There’s nothing wrong in doing this, Katsudon, but you can’t tell me – you can’t tell me you’re going to spend the rest of your days locked up in this town. You belong on the duelling platform, not in an inn’.

Yuuri bite his bottom lip. There were days it was near impossible to see beyond the horizon of the following day. Yuuri measured his life by the glistening shine of teaware and by the patter of Lumos’ paws, by his talks with Ayano and by exhausted, determined rental owls from a postal office in the faraway St. Petersburg. He did not measure it by his footsteps on the platform anymore.

‘Maybe one day’, he said, knowing full well that Yurio would not take it for an acceptable answer. ‘I’m not thinking about it now’.

Yurio scoffed.

‘You will now’, he announced. ‘I hope you’re not out of shape, Katsudon. I’m doing a big duelling show in a couple of weeks. You’re gonna help me with my step sequences’.

‘Yurio’, Yuuri began, ‘don’t you have a coach for that?’.

His friend stared at him. The dishes piled themselves up neatly, already dry and clean. Then, quick as a thought, Yurio sent a Stunner at Yuuri, huffing with laughter.

Yuuri jumped out of the way. He’d left his wand upstairs; the spell ricocheted and flew at him away, and he swirled out of the way. Belatedly, he realized Yurio had planned it from the start.

‘See?’, he said now. ‘Chill, Yuuri. Your step sequences are better’.

 

***

 

‘My friend wants me to help him with his training’.

Ayano was wearing bright colours again, contrasting with Yuuri’s own dull blue shirt. She was aware of magic, but he still thought it insensitive to dress in wizarding robes to see her. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to be surrounded by magic throughout your childhood, but incapable of doing it. Incapability, though – that he could imagine. He didn’t even have to.

Ayano stayed silent, as if sensing that Yuuri wanted to add something more. It took him a while to collect his thoughts.

‘The thing is’, Yuuri continued, slowly. ‘I’m not sure that I can’.

‘What is stopping you?’, Ayano asked.

 

***

 

_~~Dear~~ _ _Viktor,_

_You’re right. We haven’t talked enough._

_~~You brush me off and then you’re friendly. you insult me and then compliment me.~~ _

_~~What do you want me to say?~~ _

_I don’t know what to tell you._

_~~Who are you?~~ _

_~~Your coach was right that your step sequences suck~~ _

_You’re right that we haven’t talked enough. I still don’t know why you changed your mind about me. Or if you really did change your mind about me._

_~~Stop dragging Yurio into this mess, you~~ _

_~~I think I miss just talking to you~~ _

_~~I don’t think we should go on like this~~ _

__

_~~Yours~~ _

_Yuuri_

_***_

_‘_ Well?’, Yurio asked. ‘Did you send it?’.

Yuuri glanced at the crumpled piece of paper on his desk. He was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, his head against the wall. Yurio was sprawled on the floor, stretching after Yuuri drilled him in step sequences.

‘No’, Yuuri said. He hugged his knees; usually, he’d hug Lumos instead, but the dog was not in his room.

Yurio took one look at him and got up fluidly, like a cat.

‘Wait’, he said. ‘I’ll be back’.

Yuuri stared hard at the letter. He didn’t burn Viktor’s apology, but it had been a close thing. The amber Viktor had sent him got hidden away, though, out of sight. Yuuri almost wanted to burn it too. Amber would catch flames easily, like Yuuri’s heart.

Yurio returned soon enough, carrying Potya in his arms. Delicately, he handed the cat to Yuuri.

‘I couldn’t find your dog’, he explained. ‘Mari said your dad took Lumos out for walkies. But Potya likes you and cats give great hugs if they like you, soo...’

Yuuri held the cat, unsure until Potya relaxed in his lap. Yurio seemed embarrassed. Back to stretching, he hid his eyes behind his hair and let his head touch his knees.

Yuuri let himself smile.

‘Hey’, he said, recalling something. ‘What did he give you for me?’.

Neither of them needed to clarify who Yuuri had in mind. Yurio glanced up before relaxing back into his stretch.

‘Ah, right’, Yurio said. Both of them knew he hadn’t forgotten about it but waited for the right time. ‘I don’t know. It’s in a box’.

‘He didn’t tell you?’, Yuuri asked, letting scepticism sink into his voice.

Yurio glared.

‘As if I listened to everything he tells me’.

‘You listened when he told you to come here’.

‘That’s different, okay?’, Yurio said loudly. ‘You’re my friend’.

He waved his wand with an angry swish. Yuuri recognized the wand movement; and yes, soon enough a box flew into the room. It was dark red, like cherries, with a golden engraving in Russian that Yuuri had no chance to recognize. He let Potya go, carefully, and touched the box with an unsure hand.

‘It’s a Russian manufacturer’, Yurio explained, noticing his curious gaze. ‘A very famous one. All wizards are crazy about it. Go on, then. Open it’.

Yuuri did – slowly, reluctantly, the way you fall in love. It was a man’s tie, silky, blue, and quaintly old-fashioned.

‘Really’, Yurio deadpanned. ‘He gushes about a gift for a week and then he comes up with something that will make you look like a nineteen-century brooding hero of a Russian poem nobody wants to read’.

Yuuri ran his fingers through the soft silk. It felt cold; whatever warmth had been behind the gesture – if any – had disappeared long before Yuuri received the box. He locked his eyes with Yurio’s.

‘Gushes?’, he said. ‘Really. I thought you didn’t listen’.

 

***

 

The Quidditch game had finally ended.

The Harpies won; some of the wizards went home; Harry finally emerged from his bedroom for good, talking to Luna, duelling, and practising his unsure Japanese with Hiroko. Yuuri felt vaguely guilty about wasting Harry’s time – he came here to coach and yet was a coach in name only, stranded in Hasetsu’s perpetually dormant, stagnant state.

Yet Harry didn’t seem to mind. He wrote long letters, took even longer walks, and exchanged quirky conversations with Luna whenever she dropped by. Yuuri looked forward to her visits; she brought in a breath of fresh air whenever he began to feel like everything was getting stale.

‘You should go to the Floo, Yuuri-kun’, she told him now, passing Yuuri on the way to the room she was staying in. ‘The air is exciting in there’.

She moved past Yuuri like a breeze. He followed her advice. Soon, he felt the familiar tingling of the wards.

The room was warm with cackling greens and golds of magic and Harry kneeled in front of the irori, talking to the head of a woman whose face wore an expression of both fondness and disapproval.

Yuuri didn’t expect anything or anyone, and certainly not the British Minister of Magic.

‘...and I won’t take no for an answer this time, Harry. This is such a great opportunity to promote the sport, and you’ve been so far away for so long. It’s been dwindling down here ever since you left to Egypt. Think of all the stars from other countries. Russia, Switzerland, Lithuania. They all will be there’.

‘You want to make me your poster boy’.

‘You’re not a boy, don’t be ridiculous’, Hermione Granger scoffed. ‘You’re my friend. And I’m asking for a favour’.

‘It didn’t seem like you were asking’, Harry said.

‘It didn’t seem like you were going to say no’, Hermione Granger smirked. ‘Oh, hello’, she then said, the tone of her voice considerably different, less dry. ‘You must be Katsuki Yuuri! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you’.

‘Likewise’, Yuuri managed to say. He was pleasantly surprised the woman knew how to say his surname first and given name second, but the snippet of the conversation he’d just heard made him wary.

‘In case you don’t know, Yuuri’, Harry started, ‘this is Hermione Granger, my friend and tormenter’.

‘I don’t torment you’, Hermione immediately reacted. ‘Yuuri – may I call you Yuuri? – please don’t listen to him. He’s an awful, awful man. I just wanted to convince him to participate in a duelling show’.

‘Fine’, Harry sighed. ‘I’ll do it, alright? I never said I wouldn’t’.

Hermione beamed.

‘Teddy will be so pleased’, she said. Yuuri realized this was probably her strongest argument, the one she would use only if faced with fierce opposition.

If she used this against friends, Yuuri thought, he didn’t want to know what she was like to her enemies.

‘Where is the show, then?’, Harry asked. He seemed resigned to his fate, like a man who had duelled and lost.

‘Hogwarts’, the response came swift. ‘Which you’d know if you bothered to listen to me for a change. Really, Harry’. She rolled her eyes and sent Yuuri a quick, warm smile, as if they shared a secret. ‘Oh, and Yuuri – you should come, too. Harry told me you’re not competing at the moment, but I’m sure it’s still a fascinating sport to watch, isn’t it? And you must see Hogwarts. It’s so magical, simply breathtaking. Wonderful’.

She bid them a hurried goodbye and disappeared in green flames of the Floo powder.

‘Well’, Harry said. ‘Hogwarts it is, then’.

Hogwarts. Yuuri conjured up an image of the castle he’d seen only in pictures. They were going to Hogwarts for a duelling show.

Duelling. Yuuri stopped in his tracks. That’s what Yurio had been preparing for. A duelling show.

Yuuri racked his brains, trying to recall a line from a letter. He knew he’d read it.

A duelling show.

Viktor would be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, [HQ_Wingster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/profile) made amazing music for Cherry Wood and I'm completely taken aback by the sheer talent. Give it a listen, you're going to love it: [Magic](https://joey-wingster.tumblr.com/post/165312227886/i-read-a-harry-potter-x-yuri-on-ice-fanfic%22%22) and [Crossfire](https://joey-wingster.tumblr.com/post/165344476206/an-epic-little-piece-for-keyboardandkaja-their?is_related_post=1)
> 
>  
> 
> \+ did you know amber is really flammable? actually one of the ways to check whether the stone is fake or not is to set in on fire, which may leave you with the satisfaction of knowing you had a real amber and the sadness that you don't have it anymore  
> \+ just a reminder that irori is a kind of a traditional Japanese hearth  
> \+ dacha doesn't really have an exact equivalent in English but you can read some interesting things about it [here](http://www.passportmagazine.ru/article/1893/)  
> \+ I did prompts a couple of days ago on tumblr and one of them was [Cherry Wood related](https://keyboardandkaja.tumblr.com/post/165871342401/for-prompts-cwagr-yuuri-at-mahoutokoro)
> 
>  
> 
> I went back and edited all the chapters so hopefully some typos and small mistakes are gone now and it reads better than it did!  
> [eternalsunshine13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13) helped a lot with some parts of this chapter and deserves all the love <3  
> [Zei](http://zeilena.tumblr.com) came up with the owl's name <3
> 
> So... we've finally got to the point where we can say it's really a Hogwarts AU? I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know what you think! I'm really grateful for all the feedback I get from you. This story wouldn't be the same without you all <3
> 
> I've got a lot of WIPS and very little time so no idea if I can update before November. Probably not. For updates and other fun things, you can stalk me on [tumblr](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com).


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

If Yuuri ever thought about a castle, he  unfailingly conjured up an image of well-refined elegance from Japan’s feudal period . He could see beauty in the shape of the roof and ingenuity in the location of loopholes and moats.

There was nothing like that at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts, Yuuri discovered, was all cold stone and moors, a bleak lake against the greenness of grass . 

‘It’s not a very good photo’, Teddy Lupin said. 

‘No’, Yuuri denied. He didn’t have an eye for the photography. At least this picture evoked something, even if it was a faint memory of Himeji Castle. ‘It’s nice that you got it framed’. 

Teddy’s room was full of pictures on the walls. They all moved – all but one, a faded still of Teddy’s Muggleborn grandfather. Yuuri would think it creepy if it hadn’t been for Teddy’s comfortable, sunny smile. 

He reminded Yuuri of Phichit. It was such a shame his friend wasn’t there. 

They had arrived early in the morning – Harry, Yuuri, and Luna. The Floo spat them out onto the carpet in front of the fireplace in Harry’s study at Grimmauld Place 12 in London.  Harry had mentioned his home before, sharing how he had inherited it in a gloomy state and redecorated back to acceptable standards . But what Yuuri had expected was not what he saw. Nothing like an old wizarding mansion, the house looked Muggle. If any magic remained there, it was dormant.  Yuuri had felt a probe coming from the wards, searching him, but it  quickly retreated its thin limbs and magic soon left no trace on Yuuri’s mind . 

The walls  were painted pale beige and muted yellow.  Although the furniture, all carved oak, looked old and heavy, spotless windows and bright curtains helped make the room cosy and not overwhelming . 

And then there were plants, everywhere.  Countless succulents, a huge flowering maple by the drawer, a peace lily in the corner where the light was dimmer . Jasmine in the dining room near the window; geranium in tiny clay pots. 

‘This one is poisonous, so be careful’, Harry warned, pointing his wand at the corner. ‘I didn’t want to keep it at first. This house doesn’t have the best track record as far as poisons  are concerned . But I let it stay in the end. I’m rather fond of lilies’. 

Yuuri noticed the weird wording, letting the pots stay as if they were people. Something had to show on his face. Luna smiled  serenely the way only she knew how, and replied before Yuuri opened his mouth.

‘Harry houses the plants who are Neville’s friends’. 

Yuuri  vaguely remembered that he must have heard the name, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall it.  It was so bizarre to think that Harry had his own life outside the borders of Hasetsu, that he was not only a fixed constant in Yuuri’s .  Harry had always been there, reliable like a wand, even before Yuuri had known him: always an inspiration, and then, later – a friend . 

‘ I think you’ll meet Neville tomorrow’, Harry finally explained. Floo travel didn’t agree with him; he’d landed on his knees, hitting the floor  uncomfortably . By now Yuuri had been long accustomed to the sight. Harry usually brushed it off as his own clumsiness.  Yuuri himself suspected the Floo system had not  been designed with such a powerful wizard in mind . Whatever were Harry’s magical levels, they went far beyond anything Yuuri had seen. Harry was extremelu casual about his own abilities.  Sometimes Yuuri almost forgot that contrary to what his former coach was fond of saying, they were – kind of – a big deal . ‘He’s our good friend from Hogwarts’. 

They were going to Hogwarts the following day.  As a participant in the show, Harry had  been offered lodgings there, which he accepted with a certain kind of fondness that Yuuri rarely got to see . Yuuri himself was giddy with joy at the thought of sleeping in the famed magical school. Mahoutokoro was home, but Hogwarts – Hogwarts was adventure. 

Teddy had Apparated into the house moments after their arrival. Yuuri was still in Harry’s office, trying not to snoop around and failing.  There was an important-looking award  casually stuck between two old books, but Yuuri was more interested in the pictures on the wall .  One photo  was hung there in which a younger-looking Harry smiled, leaning against the same bushy-haired friend who had shouted at him from Yuuri’s irori  just a few weeks ago .  The Harry in the picture had his other arm thrown around a small, frail-looking, pale creature with huge eyes and a beaming smile .

‘Who’, Yuuri asked, ‘is that?’. 

‘That’s Dobby’, Teddy said  cheerfully .  He octopused himself around Harry with the same easy enthusiasm he did everything else . For a second, Yuuri felt a pang of guilt in his heart at the thought that he kept Harry away from his godson. 

‘Our friend’, Luna added  meaningfully . Yuuri could see that much. 

‘Yeah’, he said. ‘He’s not human, isn’t he? I haven’t seen anyone like him’. 

‘He was a house elf’, Harry finally said. The tightness in his voice was something Yuuri had learnt to recognize. It clasped Harry’s throat whenever he talked about the war. And then Harry locked his eyes with Yuuri’s. There was something unfamiliar in his face, a dare or a challenge. ‘He was a slave’.

***

'Dobby was happy’, Teddy told him later when they toured the house together. ‘In the end, he was happy, and that’s what mattered’. 

‘Did you know him?’, Yuuri asked. 

‘I know of him’, Teddy said. ‘I know enough of him to think it would be an honour’. 

‘We don’t have house elves in Japan’, Yuuri shared. ‘I never heard about them’. 

‘They prefer to keep out of sight’, Teddy said. ‘Or rather, we wizarding folk prefer to keep them out of sight. It’s bad taste to show off your house elves but it’s worse taste not to have one. They’re expensive’. 

‘Harry...’

‘Of course he doesn’t, Yuuri, come on.  Aunt Hermione has been trying to delegalise slave work for ages but the opposition is still strong . Harry’s been giving his support, but he’s away often, and he’s not comfortable in the public eye anyway. You’ll see’. 

‘Not comfortable?’.

Teddy gave him a knowing glance.

‘Ooh, look, this is Harry’s Firebolt Supreme, it’s the fastest broom in the market and Harry just goes  woosh  like it’s nothing, I’d have a heart attack... Anyway. Yuuri, it’s not like in Japan. Harry’s a celebrity here – no, a hero. The hero. You’ll see. He despises the spotlight’.

***

Mindful of Teddy’s words, Yuuri braced himself for a crowd of paparazzi screaming at them when they arrived in front of Hogwart’s gates . But the castle was silent.  Again, Yuuri got the impression that the famed place had to be cold, all stone and impersonal greyness, but all the wizards who accompanied him seemed  indescribably pleased to visit their old school one more time . 

Maybe that, Yuuri thought, was Hogwarts’ real magic. 

Luna bid them goodbye at the entrance and ambled off for a walk around the lake, but both Teddy and Harry bounced inside . Yuuri followed, enthusiastic but a bit out of place.

He didn’t get very far. 

Hogwarts was nothing like from the outside.  Yuuri  suddenly got overwhelmed by the soft glow of chandeliers and floating candles, antique portraits shouting greetings and moving staircases that creaked through the illuminated space under the high ceilings . 

‘Harry Potter’, someone then said, breaking Yuuri out of his reverie. He let his gaze drop down and fall on a tall, white-haired woman who stood at the top of a staircase. ‘You’re late’. 

‘And you’re exactly on time, as always, Professor’, Harry grinned. 

The woman climbed down, walking quite  swiftly , and enveloped Harry in a bony hug. 

‘I told you ages ago not to call me Professor’, she said. 

‘And I told you ages ago you’re welcome to try’, Harry smiled. ‘Professor, meet my student, Katsuki Yuuri. He’s the most promising duellist I’ve seen in years. Yuuri, Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts’. 

Teddy waved at her  joyfully while Yuuri  simply bowed, unsure. She seemed rather stern, like one of Yuuri’s teachers at Mahoutokoro. Yuuri didn’t know what to make of her; neither did he know how to react to Harry introducing him as a student, not a former one. 

There were so many former things about Yuuri.

‘Welcome to Hogwarts, Mister Katsuki’, she said.  Yuuri couldn’t quite understand her tone – it was business-like but quite a bit of warmth sneaked into the intonation . ‘Harry speaks very well of you. I hope you’ll agree to perform one day as well’. 

‘Thank you’, Yuuri replied. ‘Not yet’. 

‘Of course’, she agreed  easily . ‘You’re the last ones to arrive.  The performers are staying in guest lodgings but we’re also giving them the option to spend the night in students’ dorms if they prefer . Some former alumni were adamant they had to revisit their old beds. Including Neville Longbottom’. 

‘Nev is here?’, Harry asked. ‘Already? I thought he wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow’. 

‘He said he was going to drag you to one of the greeneries so you can choose a plant’. She sent Harry a knowing look. ‘He’s got a lily for you’. 

They said something else, but Yuuri’s mind stopped at “you’re the last ones to arrive” and wouldn’t move on.  Viktor and Yurio had to be at Hogwarts too,  maybe roaming the corridors,  maybe already settled in the dorms . Yuuri thought of Viktor, who had been sending him letter after letter. 

He’d replied to none. 

Yuuri wished it could all be as simple as on the platform, where everything and anything  was decided in a blink of an eye .  He loved the split second before the spell hit his opponent, the moment when it the outcome became decided but had not yet came to be . 

He felt like that now, only he was the target and an unknown spell dragged in the air as if in slow-motion, and Yuuri didn’t know what was going to hit him .

***

Yuuri had read  Pride and Prejudice  once.  There was a chapter in which the protagonist toured the estate of the ever-brooding Mr Darcy, amazed by the architecture and the kindness of the man .  It was one of those scenes which screamed at you that you may have to wait for your happy ending, but you’re definitely going to get it . 

Walking around Hogwarts Yuuri felt as if he’d  been transported into the novel. Hogwarts was grand beyond words and foreign beyond his understanding. Whispers of excited portraits trailed after him as he passed darkened corridors. Some painted wizards or witches were as chatty and nosy as Phichit.  Yuuri had learnt of their lives, their lovers, their enemies, and got updated on the juiciest gossip, most of which told him  absolutely nothing . Harry indulged the portraits with an air of a man who had long given up. Teddy ,  on the other hand , actually engaged in a conversation with one old lady in an awful hat.  Resigned, Yuuri  just kept nodding along to  Sir Cadogan’s latest flame,  and  Professor Longbottom is doing something suspicious in the greenery,  and  there’s a handsome foreigner here who  just mopes and broods and he would look exquisite in duelling robes .

‘It’s so eerie’, Yuuri wondered when they finally left the portraits behind. 

Harry sighed.

‘It is. But they don’t have anything better to do than prattle’. 

Yuuri opened his mouth to say something but then shrugged and gave up.  Maybe over the years the castle had lost its magical novelty for Harry. But for Yuuri, it was still a marvel.  If he concentrated, he could fail the faint buzz of magic pulsating under his skin, as if the castle had a slow heartbeat . 

Viktor was staying somewhere inside, too,  perhaps walking the same corridors and halls, feeling the same gentle thud in his veins .  Yuuri kept his eye out for him, hoping to spot the familiar silver of Viktor’s long hair, glimmering in candlelight . 

But there was nothing, only their footsteps.

***

‘I’ve never slept in Gryffindor Tower before! I’m a Hufflepuff. It’s so awesome that I can see where Harry lived for seven years!’. 

Teddy  was sprawled on the rug in front of the fireplace. The common room emitted a warm, welcoming light, and Yuuri let himself relax. When he closed his eyes, magic still hummed under his eyelids.

They were not the only ones in the common room.  Yuuri saw a few wizards who kept themselves to themselves, and then there was one dark-skinned witch who had given Harry a strong, bear-like hug .  They were sitting together now, lost in a conversation with a tall man who Yuuri had learnt was Neville Longbottom, Harry’s old friend .

‘Don’t tell Harry’, Teddy started so  loudly that Yuuri was sure Harry must have heard it, clear as a bell, ‘but I’ve got a banner for him for tomorrow ! Not that he needs it but I thought it might be nice. Do you think he’ll like it?’.

Yuuri smiled. Tiredness crept over him as he looked at Teddy and then into the dancing flames in the fireplace. 

‘Yeah’, he said. He could hear Harry laughing at something in the back of the room. ‘He will love it’.

***

‘Yuuri, come on! Wake up!’. 

Yuuri roused from his sleep, his eyelids still heavy. Hogwarts beds were heavenly comfortable, like duvet clouds.  A tiny part of Yuuri’s brain – the same part that was awake and cognizant of the years spent with his family, running the inn – wondered if they should turn Yu-Topia into a hotel and furnish the rooms with such luxury . 

But the rest of Yuuri’s brain had different ideas.

‘Go away’, he mumbled. ‘Lemme sleep’. 

‘Yuuri’, Teddy sing-sang into his ear. ‘Let’s go exploring!’. 

Yuuri opened one eye, then the other. Teddy sat by his bed,  visibly giddy with mischief. His head  was illuminated by the tip of his wand. Teddy’s hair changed colours closer than Yuuri’s sleepy perception could stand. 

He closed his eyes shut. 

‘Exploring’, he groaned. ‘You’ve been everywhere here before’. 

‘You haven’t’, Teddy accused. ‘Come on, Yuuri. Where is your sense of adventure?’. 

‘Asleep. As you should be’. 

A moment of silence. Then, ‘Fair enough. I suppose I’ll go on my own.  Just me and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak’. 

Yuuri rolled out of the bed in an instant.

‘Wait’, he called, the heavenly bed forgotten. ‘I’m coming’.

***

‘Won’t Harry mind that you took it?’, whispered Yuuri. The cloak simmered in his fingers, more exquisite than anything he’d ever seen. It was  faintly silver, like Viktor’s hair. 

‘You think I stole it?’, Teddy asked. He almost seemed offended. ‘Please. Harry left it in the open. He knows I have it. Why do you think he packed it in the first place?’. 

He scuttered closer and threw the cloak over their shoulders.  Yuuri's view of Hogwarts  was blurred through the silvery material, intricate like a spider’s web . 

‘Why are we sneaking around? We could  just walk. There’s no curfew. We’re not students.  Honestly , Teddy, there are no students here yet, it’s still August, why...’. 

‘Relax, Yuuri! It’s more fun this way’. Teddy was very close to Yuuri, so close that Yuuri could count his freckles. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never done it before’. 

Yuuri didn’t tell him. Instead he recalled the nights Phichit would drag him out of the bed the same way Teddy had  just done. He tugging at his arm and rock on his heels with excitement. 

Celestino would always catch them.

But here and now, Hogwarts was empty. Theirs were the only footsteps they could hear. Yuuri felt ridiculous, sneaking around while he could walk. Yet Teddy’s giddiness was contagious.  Yuuri recalled that at Mahoutokoro, it was always like this: his deep sense of propriety mixed with wild exhilaration . 

‘Where are we going?’, he whispered again, keeping his voice low even though there was no need for it. 

‘I’m gonna show you my favourite place!’, Teddy grinned. ‘Harry skipped it earlier’. 

‘What is it?’, Yuuri asked. It seemed hard to have a favourite place when the entire castle was such a wonder. 

‘The Astronomy Tower’, Teddy announced, grabbing Yuuri’s shoulder and leading him upstairs. ‘This way’. 

‘Do you watch the stars there?’, Yuuri asked. 

‘Yeah, but you  mostly go there for a snog’, Teddy grinned. ‘Lots of people say it’s their favourite. You know. Fond memories. I’m more like Uncle Charlie though. More into dragons than people’. 

Yuuri nodded. He still wasn’t sure if it was an idiom or a literal expression.  Harry had mentioned a Charlie Weasley and his work with dragons in Romania, as well as Charlie’s lack of desire to settle down or experiment around . He didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask Teddy, open though the boy was.

He thought of his own meagre experience: first sloppy kisses stolen at Mahoutokoro, awkward evening dates and the dazzling confusion when he’d finally figured out he was not attracted to other boys only but that girls were nice, too . 

There was no Astronomy Tower at Mahoutokoro, Yuuri thought with a touch of irony. Was it why at twenty he was  merely a tad more experienced than at eighteen. 

So lost in thoughts was he that he hadn’t realized when they reached the tower. Teddy stopped at the door, waiting for Yuuri to notice their surroundings. 

And notice Yuuri did. 

Against the dark hues of the starry sky Yuuri saw the familiar muted silver of Viktor’s hair. 

He was wearing black robes, so dark that they blended into the night like in an old photograph. He stood still, gazing ahead, so that Yuuri only saw the back of his head, bright like the moon itself. 

Viktor stood there, silent and unaware. Yuuri hesitated at the entrance, transfixed,  silently shaking off Teddy’s hand. He wanted to move, to speak, to touch, and at the same time, he didn’t. 

It was Viktor who moved first.  His eyes still fixed on the darkness ahead, he grabbed his wand and aimed it at the blackened sky, arm straight like an arrow .  The moment Yuuri realized what he was going to do, Viktor bellowed a spell with a desperation in his voice that Yuuri, somehow, knew like his own .

__

_‘Expecto Patronum_!’.

***

‘Does he want to win against Harry with that?’, Teddy asked when they got back to the Gryffindor common room. ‘Harry’s known the spell since he was like, I don’t know, thirteen?’.

‘There were Dementors at Hogwarts then’, Yuuri pointed out, recalling the story. ‘There are no Dementors in Russia. None at all. There weren’t any in Japan when I learnt it, either’.

‘You’ve got other scary things’, Teddy said, ‘Anyway, it’s not gonna work’. 

It hadn’t worked when Viktor practiced it, either.  Yuuri thought he may have been able to trace a faint shape of a four-legged animal, but the spell came nowhere near the full corporeal . Whatever memory Viktor had focused on, it wasn’t strong enough. 

And yet, as Yuuri lay in the cloud-like bed, he could not help but recall how beautiful Viktor was against the faint mist of the spell, against the starry night .

‘Hey, Yuuri’, Teddy’s voice came from Yuuri’s right, where Teddy snuggled on another bed. ‘You know, it was the Astronomy Tower, you could have  totally snogged him right there’. 

I should have,  Yuuri thought. 

He only fell asleep as the pastel hues of dawn glanced at the window. Viktor’s voice echoed in his head again and again, desperate and raw. Yuuri could not wipe out the man’s solitary silhouette from under his eyelids.

***

The Great Hall sported a cloudy ceiling in the morning. The same sunlight that had lulled Yuuri to sleep was long gone. Instead, a swarm of fluffy clouds turned the Hall into a palette of whites and greys. 

__

_‘Genus cumulonimbus_ ’, Luna told him,  sagely . ‘This one is for excitement’. 

Yuuri didn’t know about that.  He thought the clouds  just looked like they were about to drop some rain on the audience, even though no droplets would fall from the charmed ceiling it . 

He cast Impervius on himself, Luna and Teddy the moment they stepped out of the castle. They began the slow trek towards the Quidditch pitch where the duelling show took place. Luna shook off her spell with a serene smile, assuring Yuuri she was content to let the rain fall on her face. Around Yuuri, other wizards made no such claims.  He spotted Neville Longbottom sharing a bright yellow umbrella with the same witch he and Harry had chatted to the previous night (‘Angelina Johnson’, Teddy chimed in, ‘wicked on the broom’) . 

‘It’s not even raining’, someone drawled on Yuuri’s right.

Yuuri instinctively turned towards the voice.  The man must have noticed the professor’s forethought like Yuuri himself had, but at the same time had reached a different conclusion . 

‘This school is going to the dogs if the most famed professor can’t even notice that there’s no rain at all’, the voice continued . 

On Yuuri’s left, Teddy stiffened.

The man had long, silvery hair, almost like Viktor’s.  Only it framed a different face, sharper, with a pointed chin and piercing grey eyes, greyer than the clouds . His cut-glass accent was harsher on Yuuri’s ears than Harry’s had ever been. He was wearing a traditional set of black robes, better in quality than anything Yuuri owned.

He was talking to a woman, dressed in a bit more modern attire. She seemed to be fighting an urge to roll her eyes but kept nodding along. Her gestures had a mechanical quality, as if she had repeated them many times. 

‘Pathetic’, the man said. 

Yuuri closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and hoped he was not going to cause an international incident because a British snob was annoying him .

‘Prudent’, he called to the man. A part of him  was surprised at his own bout of courage. ‘I’ve  just cast an Impervius myself’. 

‘Which is something I told you to do, Draco’, the woman muttered under her nose. ‘But you were too busy mumbling about Potter’. 

Yuuri heard that. Next to him, Luna remained oblivious but Teddy held himself stiff, as if posing for a portrait. Only his hair changed colours more  rapidly than ever. The silver-haired man gave him a long, stony look and swept his gaze over, back to Yuuri. He kept strolling, as if he owned the school grounds.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met’, he sneered at Yuuri. ‘Which is why I don’t believe I was talking to  you ’. 

He prolonged the last word so that it almost turned into Yuuri’s name.  Yuuri had  just sieved through his mind in search of something ironic, not even trying to consider why the stranger ruffled his feathers so much, when Teddy put an arm on his shoulder and held him back . They stopped. The man kept walking forward, no longer falling into step by their side.

‘Come on, Yuuri’, Teddy urged. ‘It’s not worth it’. 

Draco Malfoy turned around.  The woman who accompanied him – an assistant, Yuuri thought – looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but not with the man . 

‘Yuuri’, the man repeated. ‘You’re Potter’s protégé’. 

Yuuri raised his chin. The man’s tone, pretentious and patronizing, grated on his nerves. 

‘No’, Yuuri said. ‘I’m his friend’. 

The wizard raised one pale eyebrow and replied nothing. His assistant rolled her eyes, not at all  subtly . 

‘We should go, Draco’, she said. ‘It’s about to start. You’re going to miss Potter’s duel’. 

‘Ah, yes’, the man agreed  easily . ‘Let’s go, Cady’. 

He resumed his walk in long, sure strides, making his assistant trail after him. As they walked away, Yuuri heard her exasperated tone when she berated the man.

‘You should  just snog him already!’. 

‘Oh dear’, Luna reacted then, her voice tinged with amusement. She couldn’t have been as inattentive as she’d seemed, Yuuri decided. ‘Teddy, it looks like you’re not the only wingman here’.

***

Teddy led them to the stands decorated in his house colours.  It was then that Yuuri realized that Teddy and Luna were schoolmates from different Houses and from different generations . He got to levitate a huge banner in black and yellow. I screamed and roared on Luna’s whim whenever she activated whatever charm they’d put on it. Yuuri thought it went on well with the crowd’s excitement. He tried not to mind and  idly watched as people  slowly crowded the Quidditch stands. 

The benches around him soon widened. Magic, Yuuri thought, not at all  dryly – when two more people stepped onto the stands. 

One of them was the woman Yuuri had already met. 

‘Minister’, he said, getting up and bowing  politely . Hermione Granger grinned, all wit and sharp edges. 

‘Katsuki Yuuri’, she said, exactly the same way she had back when her head arose from the Floo flames. ‘Great to see Harry’s got one more friendly face in this crowd’. She pointed towards the man who accompanied her, tall, pale, and red-headed. 

‘This is Ron Weasley’, she said. 

‘I know’, Yuuri replied,  automatically .  You didn’t cut out Harry Potter’s interviews from foreign magazines for years not to know who was his best friend and a brilliant entrepreneur . Yuuri wasn’t sure what exactly Ron Weasley was doing. It had something to do with a joke shop and explosive spells that defied the laws of magic. Colour Yuuri impressed.

‘I’m not sure Harry needs any more friendly faces’, the man noticed, flopping down next to Yuuri. ‘I mean – blimey. Look at that’. 

The arena was still empty. Only the duelling platform hovered in the air, drifting to the wind.  Yet the Quidditch stadium’s viewing towers were  slowly filling with spectators to the brim . Most of them sported animated posters and magical merchandise. One theme  was repeated over and over again: Harry Potter. 

Yuuri stared. The crowd was already roaring.  Now that he became aware of the source of the noise, Yuuri realized how bad it was to be a celebrity in a close-knit community . These wizards and witches thought they had the right to know you, to touch you.  No wonder Harry  gladly moved to Japan and didn’t say a word about going back to Britain when he stopped coaching Yuuri .

‘It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before’, Hermione remarked, her face tight. Yuuri again glanced at the swarming crowd.  He thought it was a cruel thing to say, but then one more look at the Minister showed him she had been trying to rationalise her own worry . 

‘Exactly my point, Mione’, Ron said. ‘He’s gonna be fine, but it’s not gonna be easy’. 

Yuuri  was used to performing.  His own stage fright attacked less  frequently than bouts of the long-familiar and unwelcome anxiety . But looking at the biggest audience he’d ever seen, he could understand where Ron was coming from. Harry Potter was the star attraction of the event.  It didn’t even matter that Viktor Nikiforov was somewhere out there, too, getting ready, and that Yurio was  probably scowling at him  just in that moment, or that Yuuri heard rumours about both Alejandra and Emilia Rodriguez performing tonight . 

The crowd was chanting. 

‘Aunt Ginny couldn’t come?’, asked Teddy, looking over to Ron, who shook his head.

‘She’s got a game tomorrow and said she needs to take it easy’, Ron answered. 

‘That’s not the reason why she’s not here’, Luna said  airily . She didn’t add anything else, instead activating the roaring banner. If Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, Yuuri didn’t feel it was his place to say anything. 

‘It’s a pity’, Teddy continued. ‘I wanted to ask her something about Gwenog Jones, did you hear she’s rumoured to be a Metamorphomagus? They say she hasn’t aged a day since 1996 and--- oh, look over there. It’s Malfoy again’. 

Yuuri couldn’t see him  clearly in the crowd, but he followed Teddy’s pointed finger (‘Teddy, it’s rude to point’, ‘Aunt Mione, I’m not twelve anymore’) . There he was, on the other side of the pitch, in the viewing tower opposite their own.  Even wearing his glasses, Yuuri could only make out the silver spot that was Draco Malfoy’s hair, so  similar to Victor’s that if Yuuri hadn’t known better, he’d take Malfoy for the other man . Nearby sat the woman Yuuri had seen before, his assistant. 

‘That git’, Ron said in an animated tone. ‘Showing his face here after all that business with Harry!’. 

‘Ron’, Hermione interrupted. ‘You know that they’re on speaking terms?’. 

Yuuri grew more and more uncomfortable with the talk, especially since he was aware of the ongoing correspondence between Harry and a Draco Malfoy, whose rude owl always refused to deliver letters to anyone other than the addressee . “Speaking terms” was an understatement. 

‘They’re on writing terms’, Luna interjected, as if thinking the same thing. ‘Very good writing terms’. 

‘Very good’, Ron repeated, incredulous. ‘How—‘

‘Look, Uncle Ron’, Teddy interrupted. ‘They’re starting!’. 

And if Yuuri thought the roar of the crowd had been loud before, what followed turned out to be thundering and cacophonous .

***

It felt bizarre, sitting in the audience instead of performing, even though it was only a duelling show and not a competition . Back in Sochi, Yuuri had made a promise to himself and to Celestino that he would win the next year. Yet here he was now, one of the many spectators  eagerly waiting for someone else to step on the platform. He felt, not for the first time, as if sitting inside a bubble. It might be even true.  Hermione had cast a Silencing Spell around them when the noise coming from the crowd became unbearable . 

Usually, on the platform, Yuuri wouldn’t have such a luxury.

Yuuri would be lying if he claimed he didn’t miss it.

The platform hovered in the air.  It was the current fashion that made the duel more visible, spectacular and nerve-wracking . The duellists would dance on the edge of the narrow wooden floor. Yuuri thought it was a bit like flying; he wondered what Harry would think about it. As far as he knew, the man had never performed on a raised platform before. 

As much as Yuuri longed to go back to duelling – and as much as he dreaded the day when he finally would – he almost jumped in his seat with excitement . The crowd still roared and now Yuuri shared this enthusiasm, clapping and grinning. 

The duelling show had different rules than usual – no choreography had  been arranged before the performance . Yuuri thought it a bit strange and  maybe even dangerous. 

The rules followed most of the standard duelling regulations he was so familiar with. From what Yurio had told him, Viktor had  been delighted to surprise the audience. And from what Yuuri had seen, Harry  just shrugged and said he’d duel anyone. 

The duellists  were supposed to draw their opponents by lot. They hadn’t arrived on the pitch yet but the opening ceremony had  just ended.  Professor McGonagall was flicking her wand to open the door which looked like Quidditch teams’ locker rooms . 

And then Yuuri held his breath.

There they were – six celebrated duellists, three of whom still  actively competed.  Yurio appeared first, small and proud, and walked towards McGonagall with his head held high . An animated tiger burst forth through the noise from the audience and chased away into the sky.  Yuuri risked a glance – and yes, away in the stands he could see the red head of Mila Babicheva, hugging someone who had to be her and Yurio’s coach, Yakov Feltsman . 

Yuuri recalled that there was no dress code the moment he spotted Yurio’s leopard print robe.

A moment of pause – and two women appeared together, dressed in  similarly red robes and high boots, their heads dark haired .  From the distance, Yuuri couldn’t make out their features, but he’d seen both Emilia and Alejandra Rodriguez before . 

‘Whoever gets to duel with them should get ready for something fierce’, Ron said. 

Privately , Yuuri agreed. For a moment he entertained a thought that it could be Yurio, with his anger and rage. That would be interesting.

Only then Patrycja Zamaszewska entered the stadium and the crowd exploded in an applause . Her green hair stood out against her modest brown robe. She waved, a bit  awkwardly , and then  just hurried to McGonagall.  Yuuri remembered she was no more comfortable with crowds than Harry, and even more of an introvert . 

Yuuri could only sympathise.  But she seemed happy enough to divert the attention from herself when the next performer entered the stadium . The crowd erupted in chants and applause one more time. 

Breaking his gaze away from the woman, Yuuri let his eyes finally land on Viktor.

He was so beautiful and so far away, dressed in an ethereal, simmering robe that changed from white to gold in the sunlight . A strange emotion overcame Yuuri; he didn’t know whether to reach out or to curl into himself. Again, Viktor remained untouchable.

The crowds made more raucous than Yuuri had ever heard.  Even with Hermione’s Silencing Spell around them, the tumultuous noise cut through the shield and into Yuuri’s ears . 

Viktor looked  strangely lonely, almost lost in the booming loudness. He kept turning his head.  At first, Yuuri thought he was greeting his fans, but then it appeared to him as if Viktor had been looking for something . 

‘He’s distracted’, Teddy murmured into his ear. Yuuri nodded, absentminded. He’d noticed it, too. In his letters, Viktor had come across as someone who lost focus  easily . As much as he could  be engrossed in something, he’d soon become disenthralled. Yet this never happened at any duelling event. Duelling was different somehow – and only it wasn’t now.

Faintly , Yuuri could hear Ron and Hermione discussing Viktor’s team, but he paid them no mind. Viktor was there – again, so far away and so close, and so unreachable. At the time the only motivation to climb to Viktor was to push him off the platform and off the pedestal. But now Yuuri was not in competition anymore. Now Viktor might – or might not – be someone Yuuri had grown close. Someone Yuuri could see in his future as  clearly as he could see a spell when it flew straight at him. 

Now, Yuuri  just wanted to reach Viktor to grab his hand and to stay.

He knew, of course, that it wouldn’t be so simple as that.

__

_ ‘ _ _Muffliato!’_ ,  Teddy intoned on Yuuri’s side, startling him out of his contemplation. ‘Sorry, Yuuri’, he said, ‘but look. One more spell won’t hurt’. 

He had a grim expression on his face, as if he was about to watch something that he knew he was doing to detest. Yuuri didn’t understand. The only performer left was Harry, and Yuuri knew how much Teddy adored his godfather.

Then Harry appeared and Yuuri understood.

Even with the protective spell around them, Yuuri felt the noise hit him like a wave and flood through his eardrums . His sense of hearing overcame all the remaining senses.  It took a while to adjust before Yuuri realized that he could, in fact, see Harry walking towards McGonagall the way other duellists had done before him . Harry, on his part, looked unpeturbed.  He watchedthe crowd with a stony expression that only broke into a smile when he spotted some familiar face in the crowd . Then he waved. 

The crowd erupted in noise again, and this time Ron shouted along with it.

‘It can’t be!’, he bellowed, ‘he’s waving at that git and not at us? Me? His first friend?’, he fumed, turning to Hermione, and then decided very  loudly , ‘that’s it. Mione, we have to prank him’. 

‘Ronald, no’, Hermione said, eyes  firmly on Harry. ‘At least he’s wearing the robe I gave him, he needs to look presentable’. 

‘He’s Harry Potter’, Teddy pointed out. ‘He can look any way she wants and people will love him’. 

Hermione shook her head, a bit  sadly .

‘You can’t remember that, Teddy, but it wasn’t always the case’, she said. ‘It’s better to play safe. Good image means a lot’. 

Judging by the rich, dark green duelling robe Harry had put on, Hermione took these words to heart.  It was hard to believe it was the same Harry who would spend his red-eyed mornings in the kitchen,  sleeplessly reading; the same Harry who sometimes sneaked off to play Quidditch by the sea, the same Harry who wore Muggle training gear and butchered even the simplest Japanese . 

‘ Just wait until you see him on the platform’, Hermione smirked. She seemed quite proud, and Yuuri didn’t spoil it for her saying he’d already seen Harry duel, more than once. ‘Oh, everyone look over there, they’re drawing the lots!’.

‘Blimey’, Ron said again, straining his long neck to see better. ‘The media are gonna have a field day’. 

Yuuri stared, incredulous, at the results that popped up sparking in the air. He  really should have anticipated that.

***

‘How good is he, your Yurio?’, Ron asked a couple of moments later. ‘Harry told me you’re coaching him now’. 

Yuuri frowned. On the platform, Yurio was watching with a stony gaze as his opponent waited for the signal to start.  Yuuri  unconsciously assessed his technique – and yes, it was good, although Yuuri himself would widen his stance a little bit . 

‘I’m not coaching’, he said. ‘ Just giving him a few tips’. 

‘So?’, Hermione probed. ‘How good is he? I haven’t watched anyone since Harry stopped competing’.

Yuuri thought back to Yurio’s tiny, contained rage that exploded in fiery spells faster than a person could blink . 

‘He’s good’, he  just said. Yurio tensed on the platform and widened his stance, as if in an afterthought. Yuuri nodded to himself with approval. ‘Great, even. You’ll see’. 

Ron grinned. 

‘I love a good performance’, he said. ‘ I wonder how he’ll fare against her!’. 

Patrycja Zameszewska  stoically waited for Yurio to attack when the signal started. She didn’t bother to move.  Instead, she blocked Yurio’s spells as they flew at her in colourful sequences, only  occasionally sending Yurio jumping all over the platform with short, well-aimed curses .  Gone was her earlier unassuming appearance, replaced by a flair of intensity as the air around her crackled with magic . 

Yurio had to jump and move and twirl, and soon his blond hair was flying around him, dishevelled like a halo.  Yuuri paid attention to his step sequences – a bit better, but still could show some improvement – and eyed with appreciation his friend’s complicated transitions . Yurio was getting better. 

‘Seems like his step sequences are not everything, though’, Teddy remarked loudly on Yuuri’s side, trying to speak over the loud cheers. Yurio’s shield had just barely withstood against a vicious red curse Yuuri had no knowledge of. 

‘ Depulso’,  Yurio roared then, and that was his mistake.  Zamaszewska reacted a nanosecond sooner than Yurio had expected, throwing a puff of smoke from her wand . 

Yurio bent over, coughing. He moved his wand to clear his lungs.

She blasted it off the platform with a casual flick of her hand, as if swatting a  fly . 

‘Ouch’, Ron said. ‘She’s a tough one’. 

‘He fought great, though’, Teddy added. ‘It was a good show, even if a bit short’. 

‘But the pepper fumes’, Ron mused. ‘She’s known for this spell. That was a rookie mistake on Plisetsky’s part’. 

It was, Yuuri thought. But he knew how it could be – sometimes on the platform things appeared to be different than they  really were.

Just like in real life.

***

Yuuri didn’t spot Viktor anywhere during Yurio’s duel, but as the Rodriguez sisters stepped on the platform, he caught a look of silver down near the Quidditch lockers . Something painful and unexpected twisted his stomach into a tight knot. 

He raised his hand but dropped it  hesitantly before he even got to waving. It was silly to think Viktor would notice, Yuuri realized. The viewing towers  were crammed with spectators. 

It started to rain. Yuuri moved aside as Teddy reinforced their  previously cast Impervius. No droplets hit their faces as they bounced off the invisible barrier. With amazement, Yuuri watched when the same resistant bubble appeared around the platform. Never before had he seen the spell  being used to such an extent.

The Rodriguez sisters would look like mirror images of each other if it weren't for Alejandra’s shorter hair and an ugly, white strike of a scar running across Emilia’s tawny face . 

‘That’s from a Slashing Curse she got hit with as a teen’, Hermione narrated, even though everyone in the vicinity knew the story . ‘She hasn’t let anyone strike her with anything ever since’. 

Yuuri broke his gaze away, feeling it was rude to stare. He’d seen Emilia before. He'd heard of her as a stern coach and affectionate older sister. He knew better than to reduce her to a single point in her youth that marred her life and skin forever. 

Viktor was still watching from his spot near the lockers, pale and unmoving and without an Impervius to protect him from the rain . Through the blur of the raindrops, Yuuri could make out the way Viktor’s wet hair clung to his face in messy streaks. 

So captivated was he that he didn’t realize the duel had begun.  Yuuri could swear Viktor had seen him this time, but finally,  reluctantly , he concentrated on the performance . 

Yuuri was familiar with both Emilia’s and Alejandra’s styles. The former he had to watch for offense practice, the latter to watch out for a fellow competitor.  Emilia was almost as quick and intuitive with the wand as Harry, and relied more on offensive spells than any other duellist Yuuri had observed . In a matter of seconds she fired seven different variations of the Stunner.

Soon it became  glaringly obvious that the sisters knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses like the backs of their hands .  The spells flew precise, well-aimed and ruthless, and yet would  be evaded in the last possible moment . 

Alejandra moved forward with a Blasting Curse against an amplified Stunner. It exploded, sending both sisters backwards.  Alejandra almost fell but Emilia soon lunged with a fierce scowl on her face, charging with a Hardening Charm that would turn his sister into stone . Alejandra cast  Protego Totalum  first.

‘Merlin’, Ron let out a loud sigh. Yuuri realized he’d been holding his own breath.

‘She’s amazing’, Hermione said. Yuuri almost wanted to ask which woman she meant by that, but then he caught himself. It could be either of them. 

On the platform, the spells flew in flashes of bright colours, flares of greens and blues. Yuuri hadn’t seen anything as ferocious and synchronized before.  It was a kind of duelling that could only come with years of familiarity of your opponents, sheer talent and lifelong practice . 

Yuuri watched, and watched, and he missed it.

The platform pulled him the same way Viktor had at the Kashgar banquet, with a gravity both inescapable and tempting, seductive like a midnight kiss . 

Again Yuuri strained to find Viktor, but some time during the duel the man had disappeared.  Yuuri’s eyes flickered between the performers and the empty spot where Victor had been, and he didn’t know what he missed more .

***

When Minerva McGonagall announced the next duel, the crowds erupted in uproarious applause, complete with whistles and sound effects coming with the spells . Luna’s animated banner roared straight into Yuuri’s ear.  For a long while, instead of hearing McGonagall’s amplified voice, all Yuuri got was incessant ringing . 

This way he only watched but could not hear the two duellists enter the platform, which then elevated to the audience’s eye level . Viktor kept glancing around again. Yuuri thought that he might been looking for his coach, so he also peeked in the direction of Yakov Feltsman.  Only the man was murmuring something to Mila Babicheva, paying little attention to the duel .  When Yuuri returned to staring at Viktor, the man had  just been turning his head from what looked like the angle from which he’d see Yuuri’s viewing tower, not Feltsman’s . 

The duel started to Yuuri’s heartbeat. 

Yuuri hadn’t known what to expect. He’d seen both Harry and Viktor duel before, one a living legend, the other a legend in the making. He’d care for them both, in two different ways. Seeing them face each other made his heart flutter like a hummingbird. 

It was faster and more explosive than anything Yuuri had seen so far. His eyes could  barely register the sequences of spells.  The flashes of colour were so quick and intense that they left an afterimage that wouldn’t go away if Yuuri blinked . 

And yet Harry seemed to be enjoying himself.  Yuuri recognized the look of concentration on his face, but there was no tension Yuuri had so often experienced himself . Harry moved with the long-practiced grace of a Seeker. His dark green robes billowed with the swish of his spells and his sudden movements.  All his spells were non-verbal, silent; Yuuri still couldn’t hear anything at all through the ringing in his ears . Yuuri had seen at least two openings Harry could have used to crush Viktor, but he missed them on purpose.

It was exactly like Viktor’s duel with Phichit, Yuuri realized. Only this time Viktor was on the receiving end.

Viktor didn’t seem to mind. Dishevelled, hair drenched around his face, he looked more extorted than ever. The aloof, standoffish air of a champion was gone. Viktor knew that Harry could wipe out the platform with him within seconds.

And so Viktor poured into the duel all he had, every single spark of magic in his veins. Spells made cracks in the air as if it was electricity. Yuuri watched, enchanted. Viktor threw himself into the duel like a desperate man.  Even through the distance and the ceaseless rain Yuuri recognized the same concentrated look Viktor wore during their last duel . Now it was more intense, raw, like a heartbreak. 

_ Depulso, Protego, Impedimenta, Stupefy, Stupefy, Stupefy, Protego Totalus, Relashio.  _ Yuuri struggled to add more. Harry was forcing Viktor to move all around his end of the platform, dancing on the edge. No matter what Viktor would cast, Harry met him there, ready and deadly.  Yuuri’s ears finally stopped ringing but still no sound came from the duellists, drowned out by the screams of the crowd . 

‘Merlin’, Ron’s voice cut through the noise,  barely audible to Yuuri. ‘I almost forgot he could be like that’.

He had to be talking about Harry.  Next to him, Hermione said something Yuuri didn’t catch, the noise was too loud even through the protective spells .

‘And he’s not even concentrating that hard’, Ron replied to her. 

Yuuri stopped listening.  He watched as Viktor tried to strike back, his gestures sure and fast even though they both knew Harry could win here and there .  Viktor was beautiful – tired, his hair ugly and wet, his white and gold robes dirtied and scorched – and he was stunning, like a lethal spell . 

Yuuri blinked and forced himself to look over to Harry so he could calm himself down. A flash of silver appeared in the periphery of his vision. It was Draco Malfoy, watching Harry like a hawk, his assistant still by his side. 

Viktor was losing. Harry appeared almost otherworldy, engrossed in the duel. Viktor could only hang by a thread, at the mercy of Harry’s wand.  With a sudden burst of light, Harry attacked with a cloud of fire, pushing it at Viktor with a force faster than a blink of an eye . 

__

_ ‘ _ _Aguamenti!’_ ,  Viktor roared, no longer caring for non-verbal spells, and Yuuri could swear there was a tremor of fear in his voice . Water hit the fire and sizzled it away.  Yuuri almost expected Viktor to stand there, panting, but the man wasted no time attacking Harry spell after spell .

Quick like a lightning, Harry evaded the first few, sent a Stunner Viktor’s way and entered an eye-boggling step sequence . 

‘Blimey’, Ron exclaimed. Yuuri could only agree. 

Harry again pushed Viktor to the very end of the platform until the man stood there, wavering like on a rope. Yuuri clenched his fists. Viktor looked lost, like a fairy-child, and Yuuri almost thought it was over. Harry launched an attack that was even stronger and faster than the previous ones. All Yuuri could was watch and hold still. 

And then Viktor moved forward, bare against the spells. 

‘ _Expecto Patronum!_ ’,  he bellowed. 

Harry's spells didn’t pierce through the milk-white mist. It twirled and morphed into a shape, and yes, Yuuri had been right – he had seen a four-legged creature at night.

It was a dog, bigger and older than Yuuri’s own Lumos, but the same breed.  It charged at Harry, half-joyful, half-protective, and more sure-footed than Viktor was in that moment . 

Harry didn’t even look startled, but he let out a laugh, loud, almost like a bark. Through their proximity, Yuuri felt Ron stiffen. 

‘ Really ’, Hermione  just exclaimed, half a question, half a statement, even though Luna cheered and Yuuri heard Teddy chortle, too .

And Harry kept laughing, a deep chuckle that meant something, though whatever it was, it escaped Yuuri . Viktor set his Patronus free with a heavy, focused look on his face. The strain of the spell showed around the set lines of his jaw. 

_ ‘ Expelliarmus _ ’, Harry said a spell aloud for the first time. 

Viktor’s wand made a loop above his head and fell down, off the platform. Yuuri soon lost the sight of it in the pelting rain. 

‘ Really ’, Hermione said, and this time it was more of a sigh than anything else. Yuuri watched as Harry walked up to Viktor, who stood at the edge of the platform soaked and alone.

Yuuri could hear his heartbeat.

***

In the post-show commotion, Yuuri missed Viktor in the crowd. Harry had disappeared too, anxious to escape his rabid fans. Yuuri could swear he saw a glimmer of silver following him – but it was not Viktor, only Draco Malfoy. Soon people dispersed  slowly . Hermione vanished after officiating the closing ceremony. Ron and Luna caught up with Neville Longbottom. Yuuri  was left in the viewing tower with only Teddy by his side.

‘So’, Teddy started. ‘That was something, wasn’t it?  Aunt Mione always jokes Harry’s so predictable with his Expelliarmus, but it never fails to catch ‘em off guard!’ .

Yuuri recalled Viktor’s incredulous, defeated expression. Again he realized how terrible and how beautiful duelling could be.

‘Yeah’, he said. ‘It was something’. 

People moved past them as they began their trek back to the castle. Yuuri reveled in his sudden anonymity. He wasn’t a well-known face in Scotland. Even if he caught a few curious glances, it was Harry focused all attention on himself. Yuuri was  just Yuuri.

‘He performs so rarely nowadays that people can’t get enough of him’, Teddy told him. ‘I was so happy when Harry went to Egypt and then to you, to Japan. He could walk the streets like a normal person. Here you sometimes wonder if they think him a human or a god’. 

Yuuri realized with a start that this was very  similar to his own initial vision of Harry – and to his own first reaction to Viktor . He stopped walking; Teddy went ahead before turning back.

‘You okay?’, he asked.

‘Yeah’, Yuuri said, again. ‘I've  just understood something’.

Teddy gave him a searching look and then brightened. He didn’t ask.

‘That’s great!’, he beamed. ‘So,  shall we?’. 

He waited for Yuuri to catch up. It was still raining.  They hurried to the castle even though the spells protected them from the heaviest downpour .  Yuuri smiled at the sight of the dark stone walls against the grey sky, the rain falling so  visibly that it could be one of Yuuri’s favourite ukiyo-e woodblock prints . 

They went inside arm in arm.  Although a few ghosts and people roamed the halls, Hogwarts seemed almost empty, as if suspended in time . Most of the commotion still went on in the rain. It was  slightly warmer inside the castle, but Yuuri still wished for a cup of tea.

‘Let’s go to the kitchens’, Teddy suggested, as if reading Yuuri’s thoughts. His hair changed colour to a fiery red. ‘We shouldn’t,  I think , but Uncle Ron showed me how. You see, you need to find a huge still life painting on the wall and then tickle a pear...’.

But Yuuri didn’t listen.  Viktor was there, standing all by his lonesome at the top of the stairs, chandeliers illuminating his face and giving his robes a glimmer .

And he was looking straight at Yuuri. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you think about Hogwarts? and do you still remember the original characters I referenced back in the first chapters? Cause they've just come back now.  
> I had lots of fun finally writing Hogwarts and referencing back to the early parts of this fic (and to van Gogh but shhhh).  
> A few notes for clarity or better imagery:  
> \+ the castle Yuuri thinks of in the first scene [is pretty awesome](https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e3501.html)  
> \+ ukiyo-e is an amazing art style that you can read about [here](https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/art-asia/art-japan/edo-period/a/the-evolution-of-ukiyo-e-and-woodblock-prints) and [this](https://collections.artsmia.org/art/61146/sudden-shower-over-shin-hashi-bridge-and-atake-utagawa-hiroshige%22%22) is the piece Yuuri recalls  
> \+ Yuuri and Phichit's adventures at Mahoutokoro are a reference to a [a prompt I wrote](https://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/post/165871342401/for-prompts-cwagr-yuuri-at-mahoutokoro)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your amazing comments and kudos, I love every single one of you <3 I can't believe there are only two chapters left. I don't think I'd go this far writing it without your amazing response. 
> 
> If you'd like to know more about updates, my ramblings or other fun things, I'm here on [tumblr](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit Content™. If you're not comfortable with it, stop reading after the Portkey part.

 

‘So what would you like to eat, Yuuri?’, Teddy asked. His voice cut through Yuuri’s mind with a sharp edge, too sharp for a tone as soft and kind as Teddy always used.

 

Viktor was still there. At the top of the stairs, his back straight, his head illuminated by the candlelight. Breathtaking, like a painting.

 

He didn’t say a word. Yuuri stared.

 

‘So, Yuuri? What would you like to eat?’, repeated Teddy.

 

‘Viktor’, Yuuri said.

 

Teddy stopped in his tracks, finally noticing that they weren’t alone in the hallway. Hogwarts had to be huge enough for the two of them to disappear, Yuuri thought, looking straight at Viktor. His stomach twisted into something pleasant and exciting. Viktor was looking back at him, silent as if seeing a ghost.

 

Incredulous, Yuuri thought. It was Viktor who looked like a ghost, all gold and white shimmer of his robe, all silver of his hair.

 

‘Oh’, Teddy said. ‘Viktor. Okay, Yuuri. I’ll leave you to it’.

 

Yuuri didn’t break his gaze away from Viktor even as he heard Teddy’s footsteps. They got softer and softer before the sound died down completely and Teddy himself disappeared in one of the many corridors. Yuuri’s mouth dried and he forced himself to swallow a few times.

 

Now that they finally got to talk, he wouldn’t be able to get any word out because his voice would be too hoarse.

 

Viktor, finally, started to climb down, a bit slowly, as if unsure. Yuuri on his part came nearer to the Grand Staircase and began a hesitant walk up. It wasn’t a long distance, but Yuuri thought through it heartbeat that it lasted forever. Forever, until his right foot sank deep into one trick step. Yuuri fell forward, awkwardly bracing himself on his elbows.

 

Viktor rushed to him.

 

‘Are you alright?’, he called. He reached his hand to Yuuri, who grabbed it after a second of hesitation. Viktor pulled Yuuri out towards himself. Swiftly, Yuuri regained his footing, jumping so that his left foot landed on the step above the trick one.

 

Viktor was still holding his hand.

 

‘Hi’, Yuuri said. It might be a charm – he didn’t think the candlelight would produce any warmth, but his cheeks burned with heat.

 

Viktor didn’t let Yuuri’s hand go. Instead, he held it tighter, giving Yuuri a blue-eyed, puzzled look-over.

 

‘You’re chubby’, he said. ‘Chubbier than I remember’.

 

Yuuri took his hand away. Viktor’s fell by his side, flat, and he titled his head.

 

‘I mean, hi’, Viktor then said. ‘I’m sorry. Was it too forward? Mila tells me I should think before I speak but it’s so hard to remember. But, Yuuri – you’re chubbier!’.

 

Yuuri recalled how he had noticed it himself, back in the safe bubble of Hasetsu where his life no longer revolved around the strict schedule of a duellist, where he danced little of ballet and nothing on the duelling platform. His waist got softer. Yuuri hoped that his loose blue robe would hide it – but nothing, it seemed, escaped Viktor’s eyes.

 

‘I know’, Yuuri just said. ‘You – you didn’t have to say this to my face’. A few months ago, a remark like this would cost Victor a few spells and Yuuri a sleepless night in the bathroom or in his sweaty bed. Now – after a flicker of hurt and puzzlement – Yuuri realized that Viktor’s surprised tone didn’t mean repulse at all.

 

Viktor was delighted.

 

‘I know’, he repeated after Yuuri. ‘I like it’.

 

That took Yuuri aback. Up close, Viktor’s face was silken, more human, so much more.

 

‘I’m—‘, Yuuri began and choked back anything he could have said. ‘Good’.

 

‘You didn’t answer my letters’, Viktor mentioned. There wasn’t any accusation in his voice. What Yuuri heard was a tentative allusion that they could let this topic drop if Yuuri so wanted.

 

Yuuri didn’t want to drop anything, other than letting go of his own uncertainty. And he absolutely didn’t want to let go of Viktor.

 

‘I didn’t know what to say’, Yuuri told him. ‘I don’t know how to read them. I don’t know how to read _you_ ’.

 

‘In English’, Viktor said. One corner of his mouth rose in dry amusement, but Yuuri realized what they both knew full well: it wasn’t funny.

 

Viktor was being nervous.

 

So was Yuuri.; only strangely, his own nervousness couldn’t really pierce through his disbelief that Viktor really stood there, with him, and there was no rivalry, no repulsion, just two men talking.

 

‘But what you said about the letters’, Viktor continued, more sombre this time, ‘I have the same feeling about you, Yuuri. It’s all like a spell I haven’t learnt. I can only watch what happens when it hits me. I only ever get to see the sparks right after’.

 

Yuuri reached out and tugged on Viktor’s golden and white sleeve. It tempted him to intertwine his fingers with Viktor’s there and then, and yet something told him to wait.

 

Maybe that’s how it should be, Yuuri thought. First things first.

 

‘Let’s go’, he said. ‘Let’s go and talk’.

 

It was so easy to get lost at Hogwarts. Yuuri only remembered how to get to the Astronomy Tower. Viktor seemed to be familiar with the route as well. After Yuuri’s short spell of wrong turns, it was him who took the lead. Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls. If he focused, Yuuri still sensed the soft, insistent pulsating of magic.

 

By the time they reached the tower, the heavy downpour had turned into a hesitant, fine drizzle that flew into the top of the tower between the open spaces of the arches. Droplets clang to Yuuri’s glasses. The air was damp and cold, the kind that sneaked instantly under Yuuri’s blue woollen robe. The weather was less hostile in Hasetsu. Yuuri had on his warmest autumn robes, but they were still not enough to survive the winds of bleak Scotland.

 

Viktor seemed unperturbed. He hummed, closing his eyes and facing the clouds with a pleased expression, suddenly lost in his own thoughts. Yuuri almost felt like an intruder. But then Viktor opened his eyes, so much bluer than the downcast sky, and smiled.

 

‘I’m so glad we’re here’, he said.

 

Yuuri didn’t answer. He took a few steps, testing his waters. It was cold enough to warrant a Hot-Air Spell. He made a minute gesture with his hand, about to reach his cherry wood wand from its holster, when Viktor stopped him.

 

‘Here’, he said. ‘Let me’.

 

He drew his own wand – birch and zmey scale, Yuuri remembered that from an interview – and pointed it at Yuuri with a careful smile. Soon warm air surrounded Yuuri like a blanket.

 

‘It’s a pity Impervious stops being effective after a while’, Viktor mentioned absent-mindedly. ‘You had it on just a few moments ago, didn’t you? Your glasses were clean before we came here’.

 

‘Yes’, Yuuri replied. It was clever of Viktor to say that, much cleverer than whatever Yuuri could come up with. Viktor’s presence made his mouth dry and brain too foggy.

 

Viktor still stood there, his wand up, even though he’d already cast the spell. Something about his pose tugged at Yuuri’s memory.

 

‘I saw you here’, he confessed. ‘Last night. When you were practising your Patronus’.

 

Victor’s face momentarily brightened.

 

‘You were there?’, he exclaimed, delighted. ‘Yuuri! What did you think? I learnt it just for you. Why didn’t you say anything?’.

 

Yuuri shrugged. His reasons were none – or perhaps too many to count.

 

‘I was with Teddy’, he finally said. ‘I – I didn’t want to intrude’.

 

It was true, after all, even though Yuuri didn’t understand himself why he had done what he had done.

 

Viktor seemed to sense that. He shook his head, silver bangs hiding one of his blue eyes.

 

‘Nevermind, then’, he decided lightly. ‘But did you see it? What do you think? And Yuuri – you made a promise! You told me you’d share your Patronus with me’.

 

Yuuri had written that promise in a letter, a long time ago, when Hasetsu kept him under its sleepy spell. Back then, Viktor’s letters were one of the few things that could shake Yuuri off the inexplicable, never-ending mood he had found himself in.

 

‘I didn’t see much last night’, Yuuri told Viktor now. ‘But today – today I was impressed ’.

 

Viktor sent him an easy smile that lit up his entire face.

 

‘I’m so glad’, he said, and looked as if he was going to add something else but changed his mind. When he continued, it was after a pause. ‘ Maybe if you tell me your Patronus’, he suggested, ‘I’ll share with you my Patronus memory’.

 

And he winked.

 

The fog clouding Yuuri’s mind grew thicker and thicker. Yuuri had only dated two people whose levels of awkwardness reached levels similar to his own. Yet even he could notice when someone was flirting with him, and he could certainly notice when it was Viktor Nikiforov.

 

‘It’s a sable’, he shared. It was easier than winking back or doing whatever people were supposed to do in this context. Yuuri was never good with contexts. He created his own, and then fell down hard into their depths and couldn’t climb back. ‘I mean, my Patronus. It’s a sable’.

 

‘A Russian sable?’, Viktor grinned.

 

‘They’re on Hokkaido, too’, Yuuri denied. ’And in some other places’.

 

‘It’s amazing’, Viktor said. ‘Will you show me?’.

 

Yuuri nodded, finally drawing out his cherry wand. He focused on a memory. An easy task, it was a recent one: Viktor at the top of the Grand Staircase here at Hogwarts, Viktor, now, grinning. A flame of mist spread from his wand, soon forming the familiar, comforting shape of Yuuri’s Patronus.

 

The sable peered at them with his round eyes and hopped towards Viktor, sniffing him curiously. Viktor reached his hand out as if he would to a dog.

 

‘What’s his name?’, he asked.

 

Yuuri shook his head.

 

‘I don’t know him well enough to name him’, he shared. ‘Viktor, could you maybe —’

 

‘Yes’, Yuuri heard before he even finished asking. ‘ _Expecto Patronum!_ ’.

 

It wasn’t a perfect spell. Yuuri could clearly make out a dog – a poodle – but its tail was hazy, its paws melting into the mist. Viktor, though – Viktor looked so happy and so in love, staring at the Patronus with his eyes full of wonder. Yuuri could only tell him what Viktor had just told him.

 

‘Amazing’, he said.

 

And then Viktor’s poodle jumped at Yuuri. It was just a Patronus. Yuuri’s brain registered that, but subconsciously, he expected to fall under the weight or a real dog, so fell he did, on the cold stone floor of the Astronomy Tower.

 

‘Makka, no’, Victor shouted, running after the Patronus and towards Yuuri. ‘Bad Makka!’.

 

‘Makka’, repeated Yuuri. ‘You named your Patronus after your dog?’.

 

‘Not after my dog. I mean, this is Makka. It’s like her soul’, Viktor mumbled, distractedly. ‘Are you alright?’.

 

‘Yes’, Yuuri said and took Viktor’s offered help for the second time that day. ‘ Maybe a bit bruised. Or at least, my pride is’.

 

‘In your defence, Makka can be scary’, Viktor smiled.

 

He was so close to Yuuri, at last close enough to touch. If Yuuri took a breath, he smelt a faint trace of almond and cherry, the same scent he had noticed back in Kashgar when they were dancing.

 

‘I was surprised ’, Yuuri said. ‘Not scared. I love dogs’.

 

Viktor smiled, again. He had been doing that a lot.

 

‘Me too’.

 

He walked a few steps away from Yuuri, towards one of the arches, looking down at the grey autumn down below.

 

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you something’.

 

Yuuri finally followed him to the arch. He looked down, too, but it didn’t feel as freeing as flying.

 

‘I’ve been meaning to ask’, answered Yuuri. ‘To talk, actually’.

 

‘We’re talking now’, Viktor sent him a half-smirk, a half-smile. ‘I’ve been meaning to share you this with you but you had enough on your plate. Yurio told me, repeatedly, to leave you alone or else. I didn’t want to add up to whatever you were going through’.

 

‘Is it about duelling?’, Yuuri asked.

 

‘No’, Viktor laughed. ‘Or maybe it is. But no. It’s about a dog’.

 

‘A dog?’, Yuuri repeated.

 

He knew, of course, that Viktor had a dog. If nothing else, Yurio had been complaining about it every chance he got: enough that Viktor had refrained from showing Yurio pictures of the poodle. But Viktor had so rarely mentioned his dog to Yuuri. It almost completely slipped his mind that Viktor had one – there was simply no reason to think about it. He knew Makkachin was out there, somewhere, a part of Viktor’s life Yuuri wasn’t privy to – and that was it, really.

 

‘A dog’, Viktor confirmed. ‘Makkachin’.

 

He smiled. It was a smile Yuuri hadn’t seen before. Suddenly, everything was intimate, like the first time you held hands, bittersweet in this gentle, hazed way that only memories could be.

 

‘It happened in Sochi’, Viktor then said and Yuuri’s heart stopped.

 

They never talked about Sochi. If there was one unspoken rule about what they were, that was it. Yuuri had only just come to terms with the person he had been back then and with the feelings that had flown through him. And Viktor – Yuuri had no idea about Viktor, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t forget the man’s callous words.

 

_What are your thoughts on the situation with Yuuri Katsuki?_

_I’m sorry. Who?_

 

Viktor had been so distant back then. Now he was so close, standing close enough that Yuuri could raise himself on his tiptoes and kiss him, straight onto his lips, straight into oblivion. And Yuuri wondered – now, that they could finally spell it all out, Yuuri wondered whether it was worth it.

 

They were fine. For the time being – but they were fine, there on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Yuuri could just imagine hearing the truth and letting his heart drop down, down until it shattered into thousands of pieces.

 

‘Sochi’, he murmured. ‘But we never talk about Sochi’.

 

‘We don’t?’, Viktor asked, puzzlement audible in his voice. ‘I mean – I know you were displeased with your results, Yurio told me that much, so I didn’t bring it up, and it was extremely straining for me too, so I—'.

 

‘Straining’, Yuuri said, his voice flat. ‘For you. Extremely ’.

 

‘I mean, yes’, Viktor said. A wrinkle appeared on his forehead. ‘Yuuri, are you alright?’.

 

‘Yes’, Yuuri said in the same tone of voice as before. ‘I am now’.

 

Viktor had taken him apart and never looked back, never even looked ahead, straight into Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri hadn’t even been worth that much to him. And now he came, just when Yuuri had put himself together again. Now he came and was this much away from breaking Yuuri’s heart one more time, and this time – and every time, and the previous time – it was one time too many.

 

Yuuri looked him straight in the eye, a dare, like on the duelling platform. Viktor’s eyes were so very blue, and so confused at the sudden change in Yuuri.

 

‘Go on’, Yuuri said, as if he were casting a spell. ‘Go on. Where were we?’.

 

‘Sochi’, Viktor answered, carefully, a hesitant defence. It was an evening of first times, it seemed: the first time Yuuri had seen one of Viktor’s smiles, the first time they were talking about all of this, first time Viktor’s tone of voice made Yuuri not only confused but also afraid. ‘It’s like I told you. It started with a dog – with Makka, actually’.

 

He looked fragile. Yuuri suddenly thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one with the heart of glass.

 

‘Makka wasn’t there with me, in Sochi’, Viktor continued. His eyes seemed to escape away from Yuuri’s hardened face and somewhere into the Scottish moors that spread against the bleak November greyness. ‘I usually have someone to take care of her. She doesn’t like it, but I can’t Apparate her with me wherever I go, and she’s not good with Floo travel or Portkeys’.

 

He looked back straight at Yuuri’s as if willing him to understand. Yuuri wanted to reach and tuck some of Viktor’s stray silver hair back behind his ear, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch him.

 

‘I got a Floo call the morning of the competition’, Viktor went on. There was a new note ringing in his voice, something deep and unexpected and making cracks in Yuuri’s heart, like scratches on the ice. ‘Makka – she’s greedy, alright? She’s wonderful, adorable, and greedy, and she will eat anything as long as she can reach it’.

 

The rain hit them harder, no longer the easy drizzle from before. Unthinkingly, Viktor waved his wand and cast a strong Impervius that shielded them both. Yuuri blinked. The spell settled, the rain stopped.

 

‘Makkachin ate chocolate buns that morning. Do you know how chocolate is toxic to dogs?’, Viktor asked.

 

‘I know’, Yuuri said. His own voice sounded hollow. He thought back to Sochi, to the way Viktor was distant, like a statue, and calm, unnaturally so. ‘I have a dog’.

 

Viktor laughed, although there was no amusement in it.

 

‘I know’, he said. ‘Makka had a cardiac failure. I learnt about it when I was already in Sochi. I wanted to come back to her, but Yakov didn’t let me’.

 

_What are your thoughts on the situation with Yuuri Katsuki?_

_I’m sorry. Who?_

 

Of course Viktor hadn’t been thinking about Yuuri then. Of course he hadn’t. Not when he had been forced into a press conference and wished nothing but to Apparate himself back to his dog. Of course Yuuri was the last thing on his mind. Of course Victor wasn’t listening to the journalists.

 

Of course Yuuri had taken one look at Viktor and saw only raw parts of it, bits and pieces of an incomplete picture – only those fleeting moments as if captured on ukiyo-e woodblock prints.

 

Of course he had begun to despise Viktor, to hate him, to compete with him.

 

And then, of course, in the middle of everything, Yuuri had fallen in love.

 

‘You must hate me’, he blurted out.

 

Viktor startled. Yuuri again noticed the faint scent of almond and cherry, which it reminded him about his own Cherry Blossom Spell. It would go well with Viktor, he noticed, before he realized that the man was speaking.

 

‘I was just going to say the same thing’.

 

‘No’, Yuuri said, strongly. He realized it was true. ‘But you – I was so awful to you, so terrible. I was so sure you thought so little of me that you just ignored me’.

 

‘Little of you’, Viktor repeated. Yuuri couldn’t believe it, but he laughed, all golden and white and utterly ridiculous. ‘Yuuri. I never thought as much of anyone as I think of you’.

 

The rain was still hitting the bubble of their spell, the sky downcast, but Yuuri couldn’t help but think the world was a bit lighter, brighter. Or maybe it was just Viktor’s eyes.

 

‘Chris mocked me’, Viktor suddenly added. ‘He thought I was obsessed with you. I didn’t even realize what I’d said during that interview. He told me later, and he thought it was so funny because I loved your step sequences so much. It was so ridiculous that I didn’t hear that question’.

 

‘So in Canada’, Yuuri began carefully, ‘when you told Chris that _it was beneath him_ , you didn’t mean that I wasn’t good enough to talk to him?'.

 

‘What?’, Viktor let out, and he looked so shocked and Yuuri believed him. ‘No! Yuuri – he’d been teasing me. I meant it about the teasing. It was just cruel of him to walk up to you when I didn’t have the guts to do that. You can be a bit intense’.

 

‘Intense’, Yuuri repeated, dull. ‘Viktor, I was so terrible to you. You must hate me’.

 

He’d said it before, but he felt as if it had to be repeated over and over again, like a never-ending chant of a spell. But Viktor simply took hold of Yuuri’s hand with both of his, fingers tracing the cold skin on Yuuri’s knuckles.

 

‘No’, he said. ‘You. You must have hated me’.

 

And all Yuuri saw, in a moment of clarity, was a blur. He leaned forward, on his tiptoes just like he’d imagined it, and then he was kissing Viktor, and Viktor was kissing Yuuri.

 

An eternity passed, then another. Yuuri felt as if it stopped raining.

 

Then Viktor yanked Yuuri closer to him, like with a Summoning Spell. His kisses tasted like warmth, smelled of almond, and cherry, and hunger. Yuuri closed his eyes, letting himself melt into the touch. He tasted Viktor’s smooth lips with his own chopped ones. Viktor responded like he had never wanted anything else as if there hadn’t been any bad blood between them, only ache and desperation. Yuuri let go of their intertwined hands and entangled his fingers in the silver threads of Viktor’s hair. He grinned into the kiss as Viktor let out a soft, warm gasp. Then Viktor tasted him with his tongue, as if a bit unsure – and Yuuri couldn’t have it, he couldn’t have tentativeness any longer if he could get everything, if he could get trust and boldness. He opened his mouth wider, deepening the kiss the way you pour more magic into a spell. He’d never kissed like that before, with emotions dancing across his skin, under his robes, with Viktor’s every touch. He’d never been kissed like that before.

 

And then a wave of rain hit them like a Stunner. Viktor pulled away; Yuuri let him, unwillingly.

 

‘The Impervius has fallen’, Viktor observed, a bit dumbly.

 

‘Yeah’, Yuuri exhaled. He was still so close to Viktor’s lips that they were breathing the same air. Viktor clumsily drew out his wand. Yuuri watched with his breath still quickened as he reapplied the Impervius and pocketed the wand away.

 

‘Did you just kiss me?’, Viktor asked. There was a colour to his cheeks that Yuuri had never seen before.

 

‘You kissed me back’, Yuuri replied. He was exhilarated as if the past months had happened to someone else – to another Yuuri, perhaps a fictional one, maybe a protagonist in a bad, heart-wrenching story. And then he repeated it to make sure, to make it real. ‘You kissed me back’.

 

‘I did’, Viktor said, and kissed him again.

 

 _So this is what it feels like to be electrified_ , Yuuri had a fleeting thought before his mind gave up and he became a flamed feeling in Viktor’s arms. Viktor kissed the way he duelled: like nothing else in the world ever mattered, like all of the world was there, melting against Viktor’s lips, and Yuuri was the world. The universe burnt under Yuuri’s closed eyelids.

 

Warms spread onto Yuuri’s body like golden like honey. He kissed back hard, desperate. He didn’t know anymore whether he was flying or falling. Gravity was pulling in different, magical ways, against Viktor’s lips, against his body.

 

Until Viktor broke the kiss for the second time, still holding Yuuri in his arms. He buried his nose in Yuuri’s hear and laughed, freely, like a skylark.

 

 _Maybe he was a Firebird_ , Yuuri’s brain thought briefly while he desperately tried to even out his breath.

 

‘We can’t – not here’, Viktor said into Yuuri’s ear, his voice so very low and going ‘I mean – someone’s gonna see us’.

 

‘Viktor’, Yuuri breathed. ‘It’s raining. No one’s gonna come up here. Everyone’s in the dorms or getting home’.

 

‘We could, too’, Viktor offered. ‘Go somewhere. Let’s go’.

 

Yuuri made himself hear his own heartbeat before he managed a reply. He had a difficulty speaking. Forming sentences was too hard when he himself had just been unformed, dissolved into an emotion he couldn’t really name.

 

‘You can’t Apparate out of Hogwarts’, he said, because he’d read _Harry's Hogwarts: A History_ back in Hasetsu, where nights had lasted too long and had been too dark and when Viktor had stayed too far away.

 

Yuuri felt more than saw Viktor’s grin.

 

‘You can Portkey out of it’.

 

He let go of Yuuri and reached for his wand for the second time in the few minutes that had passed.

 

‘Do you— do you have anything?’, he asked, and Yuuri shrugged, reaching into his pocket. It was empty, but he recalled he’d had something in his inner robes, something he had grown to carry at all times, precious like his cherry wood wand.

 

‘The amber’, Viktor said with wonder when Yuuri opened his palm to show him. ‘You still have it. I thought – I thought you wouldn’t keep it anymore’.

 

Yuuri had so many words on the tip of his tongue. Assurances that he had wasted enough on hate, that he would never do it again, that not all mistakes had to be repeated. But no words came out – he simply put the stone in Viktor’s free hand. The amber gleamed with dark-honeyed gold.

 

‘Won’t the spell break it?’, Yuuri asked.

 

‘No’, Viktor promised. ‘ _Portus_ ’.

 

The stone glowed all blue like Viktor’s eyes. Soon Viktor was reaching out to him, the way he had done so many times today.

 

‘Yuuri’, he said. His eyes were much darker than Yuuri remembered. ‘Do you want to--?’

 

‘Yes’, Yuuri answered and he touched the stone.

 

The spell whisked them away, out into the rain and well beyond any lands Yuuri knew. Victor was beside him, laughing as they shot over the darkened Scottish landscape. A quick thought rushed through Yuuri’s mind that maybe it was all too soon. Maybe it was better to wait.

 

They had a lifetime.

 

Then he glanced back at Victor, dashing next to him, silver hair swept back, glimmering robe billowing behind him.

 

Yuuri had never – never – been happier.

 

They landed in front of a Muggle hotel. Thankfully, the street was almost empty. The only passer-by was walking in the opposite direction and hopefully didn’t spot them. They were still wearing their robes, against the Statute of Secrecy. The area was obviously Muggle. Yuuri stared at the person, getting smaller and smaller with every step, and then back at Viktor, hard.

 

‘Sorry’, Viktor shrugged, a bit sheepish. Yuuri rolled his eyes and grabbed the other man’s hand, finally taking a look around.

 

‘Where are we?’, he asked.

 

‘Islington’, Viktor replied, leading Yuuri towards the entrance of the old, a bit quaint building. ‘I mean, London. I got a room booked here’.

 

Yuuri stopped, making Viktor come to a halt as well.

 

‘You were staying at Hogwarts’, he said. ‘Why would you need to book a hotel in London?’.

 

‘Oh’, Viktor said, suddenly – and it was incomprehensible – a tad shy. ‘I like art’, he confessed. ‘I just wanted to go sightseeing after the show so I booked it in advance, and then they told me I could stay at Hogwarts and I thought you’d be there too so I... nevermind. So... shall we?’.

 

There was something tentative about this question. Yuuri recalled the same tone from the way Viktor had asked, silently, to deepen their kiss. He disliked it – he couldn’t stand the thought that Viktor thought he had to walk around Yuuri on his tiptoes. And yet – and that, perhaps, hurt the most – he understood why.

 

Perhaps he was even the same.

 

‘Let’s go’, he squeezed Viktor’s hand and stepped in the old hotel entrance, in a city he’d never seen before, with the man he’d just kissed for the first time.

 

 

***

 

 

Yuuri had expected nothing from the room. It had little in common with the sleek modern style he’d seen in an interview that Viktor had once made in his flat. This room was cosy the way only old buildings could be.

 

It also smelt faintly of lemons. Yuuri wrinkled his nose.

 

‘Do you mind if I—‘, he waved his hand vaguely.

 

Viktor was standing in front of him, illuminated by the soft glow of the afternoon light that sneaked in through the curtains. He nodded, fervently, taking a step closer to Yuuri.

 

Yuuri took hold of his wand and Viktor stopped.

 

‘Don’t move’, ordered Yuuri.

 

He concentrated on the spell, too focused even to say the incantation out loud. The lemon scent disappeared in a whiff of fresh air. Soon the easy scent of cherry blossom filled in the space between Yuuri and Viktor.

 

Yuuri lowered his wand and closed the distance between them in one quick stride.

 

‘Is that okay?’, he asked into Viktor’s chest.

 

‘You invented a spell’, Viktor said. ‘You – you actually invented a spell’, he repeated. ‘I’m going to kiss you now’.

 

And kiss he did, softly, as if he was holding something precious, like a cherry blossom. Yuuri savoured the light touch, so different from the fiery way Viktor had kissed before.

 

Yuuri would have none of this. He’d waited so long – he hadn’t even known he’d been waiting. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss. He slipped his hands under the whiteness of Viktor’s outer robe and let it cascade down the floor with a faint swish.

 

‘Is that okay?’, Yuuri whispered, looking straight into the blue of Viktor’s eyes, now so much darker. He seemed as fragile as porcelain.

 

‘Yuuri’, Viktor sing-sang then, and his voice travelled straight down to Yuuri’s groin, ‘this is the most okay thing that I’ve ever done'.

 

Yuuri gasped, a bit in surprise and a bit in delight. He moved his lips to Viktor’s neck, kissing his way down to the spot where Viktor’s skin met the soft silk of his white inner robes. He hummed into Viktor’s neck. The man tugged at Yuuri’s blue robe and gave a dissatisfied huff when it wouldn’t fall to the floor like his own had just done. Yuuri was just about to undo the robe himself when Viktor snarled an impatient Banishing Charm. The fabric tore away from Yuuri’s body, leaving him in the light inner robe.

 

‘You did it wandlessly’, Yuuri’s eyes sparkled. ‘You—you’re wonderful, you’re impossible’.

 

He reached his hands to undress Viktor completely, but the man put a long pale finger to Yuuri’s lips.

 

‘Yuuri’, he said, and Yuuri discovered again that he enjoyed how his name sounded in Viktor’s mouth, like the most powerful spell of all. ‘Do you want this?’.

 

And Yuuri did. He wanted nothing more than to undress Viktor and take him to bed, and kiss and lick and touch every inch of his body, and afterwards thank their past selves that they had learnt top-notch Silencing Charms. He nodded, too busy going back to kissing Viktor’s skin – and _oh_ , Viktor was arching his neck now, and Yuuri really, really did not mind. He lost himself in nibbling at Viktor’s skin, and then, there it was – Viktor gasped.

 

‘Yuuri’, he breathed out. Yuuri moved his lips to another spot, chuckling into Viktor’s skin as the man let out a sound. ‘ Just need to – make sure you know. I’m healthy. No diseases’.

 

Yuuri stopped and looked at him.

 

He appreciated it, really – at least one of them was being responsible, Yuuri thought fleetingly, but he was too far gone, too lost in Viktor’s eyes.

 

‘I am, too’, he said and went back to kissing Viktor’s skin, caressing his chest until he got to the line of buttons. Viktor moved his head, cupping Yuuri’s head and kissing him hard, and it took all of Yuuri’s dexterity to remember how to unbutton a robe.

 

Yuuri didn’t see the exact moment Viktor got naked. Somehow, the inner robe also fell to the floor, and Viktor made use of his handy Banishing Spell to get rid of his underwear. But Yuuri was kissed through all of it and he had his eyes closed, lost in the warm touch of Viktor’s mouth.

 

‘You’re wearing far too many layers’, Viktor groaned into Yuuri’s lips. ‘Yuuri’.

 

Yuuri opened his eyes. It was hard to entangle himself out of Viktor’s arms, now naked and glistening with pale skin. He let his eyes travel from Viktor’s sculpted chest and down to his abdomen, before landing on Victor’s dick.

 

‘Oh’, Yuuri said.

 

‘Oh?’, Viktor laughed. ‘That’s what you got to say?’.

 

‘It’s a good oh’, Yuuri replied. Viktor was already hard, straight and long, and Yuuri felt his pulse quicken. ‘A very good oh’.

 

Viktor reached to Yuuri’s neckline and played with it, tracing a line with his finger. It was the same finger he had put to Yuuri’s lips.

 

‘Yuuri’, he smiled. ‘Will you show me your magic wand?’.

 

‘You—‘, Yuuri sputtered, ‘Viktor, really? That joke got old when I was sixteen! And I wasn’t even having sex then’.

 

He was going to add something else, something sarcastic. But then he talked no more. Sarcasm or not, Viktor’s mouth worked magic, first silencing Yuuri with a yet another kiss – and then with a soft whisper of a Banishing Spell that got rid of all of Yuuri’s clothes.

 

Yuuri half-expected to grow self-conscious. Instead, he leaned into Viktor’s touch. He breathed it Viktor’s scent and cherry blossoms. The air was tense, like before a storm. Yuuri reached his hand and touched Viktor’s cheek, caressing the five o-clock shadow on Viktor’s jaw.

 

‘You’re here’, Viktor smiled into Yuuri’s hand.

 

Yuuri took a minuscule step closer until their bodies touched and the world ceased to exist.

 

‘You’re here’, Yuuri replied. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d screamed all his feelings out, even though for some reason they kept whispering.

 

It was a moment. In one second, Viktor was smiling down at Yuuri, his eyes all dark with hunger. In another, he was moving his head, letting his silver hair tickle Yuuri’s chest, kissing his way down and down. Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s hair and gasped just as Viktor kissed the skin on his belly button.

 

‘Yuuri’, Viktor looked up, all flushed and eager and impossibly, impossibly beautiful. ‘Is that okay?’.

 

Yuuri didn’t know why he was still asking, not when he wanted Viktor like this. And then – all he knew was Viktor’s mouth about him, Viktor’s one hand clasping his butt cheek and the other caressing his leg.

 

Viktor’s fingers ghosted just above Yuuri’s skin. It tickled, and Yuuri almost laughed but it came out as a gasp when Viktor sucked harder. Yuuri let out a sound, and they really, really needed that Silencing Spell – and then Viktor grabbed him and began to move his hand in the rhythm of his mouth.

 

Viktor’s mouth enveloped him like a warm silk cloth. Yuuri closed his eyes as Viktor’s touch lingered on, warm and smooth as if Viktor never wanted to stop.

 

‘That – that thing you did with your tongue’, Yuuri groaned. ‘Yes, here. Again. Please’.

 

Viktor shuddered and then his tongue twirled, and Yuuri was no more.

 

‘Viktor’, he said. ‘If you don’t stop’, he began and then gasped, ‘if you don’t stop I’m gonna come’.

 

Viktor’s tongue twirled around Yuuri’s shaft again. He sucked for the last time before stopping with a wet, popping sound and kissing the skin on Yuuri’s inner thigh.

 

‘Bed’, he said, and then looked up, suddenly frail again. ‘Okay?’.

 

‘Okay’, Yuuri whispered.

 

The bed was soft, but not as soft as Viktor’s lips – they were kissing again, first lazily, then more insistently. Viktor lay on the bed hard and flushed with promise. The expression on his face was so vulnerable and open that when Yuuri interrupted the kiss to glance at him, he couldn’t help but to instantly touch Viktor's lips again.

 

‘Yuuri’, Viktor then said, and he rocked slowly against him. If Yuuri thought he had been close before, he was really getting close then. That was when Viktor, impossible, beautiful Viktor, kissed his shoulder as if knowing what it was going to do to Yuuri.

 

‘You’re impossible’, Yuuri panted again, rocking up and down. Viktor was pumping their dicks together and it was all slightly uneven, messy and a bit awkward as they still learnt each other the way they had learnt spells.

 

Yuuri wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Viktor’s body half-covered Yuuri’s own as he was gently biting Yuuri’s shoulder now. It was becoming too much in all the best of ways.

 

Yuuri arched into the sudden sensation.

 

 _It’s not fair_ , he thought, ‘You’re taking me apart’. He flipped Viktor over, kissing him harder, rocking rougher until the scent of arousal completely mingled with cherry blossom.

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure who came first.

 

Soon he rested his head on Viktor’s shoulder. They entangled their feet together. Viktor was moving his leg up and down, the arch of his left foot stroking Yuuri’s calf.

 

‘Ugh’, Viktor said. ‘We’re sticky. _Scourgify!_ ’.

 

Yuuri blinked once, slowly.

 

‘Viktor’, he said. ‘We just made each other come’.

 

‘I know’, Viktor grinned. ‘I’ve noticed’.

 

‘I mean – is it really the right moment to talk about washing up?’.

 

‘Yuuri’, Viktor rolled over and kissed his shoulder again, and just like that, Yuuri developed a kink. ‘It’s nicer to cuddle when we’re clean’.

  
He draped his body around Yuuri, warmer than a blanket. Yuuri gave in, melting into the embrace. Viktor half-hummed, half-moaned into Yuuri’s hair, moving to adjust his body to spoon him. Yuuri closed his eyes.

 

It was so eerie, so astonishing to think that mere hours ago they had been standing on Hogwart’s Grand Staircase. Whatever doubt Yuuri had been harbouring about Viktor had evaporated on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Since then, so much time had passed: so much and not enough. Yuuri felt as if his life became an endless string of decisions that could only lead up to this single moment – to the moment of feeling Viktor breathe against him and of getting his feet vaguely too cold; of letting himself smirk at the thought of seeing Viktor, face so beautiful and open, gasp with pleasure .

 

At that recent memory, similar warmth spread in his lower abdomen. But it was getting dark. The pale light of the afternoon changed into greyish dusk hues. Yuuri reluctantly opened his eyes to see the hotel room muted by shadows.

 

‘Viktor’, he mumbled, feeling the other man stir. ‘We should get back to Hogwarts’.

 

‘Not yet. In the morning. Sleep’.

 

Yuuri turned over so that he was facing Viktor. He draped one leg over the man, pulling him close. Being naked was more pleasant if you didn’t get cold.

 

‘Teddy will think you kidnapped me’.

 

Viktor smirked, shifting in the embrace so that their faces were on the same level.

 

‘I did kidnap you’, he said. ‘Well. Almost’. He showed no intention of getting up.

 

‘Yurio will think you killed me’.

 

‘Yuuri’, Viktor said again, his voice very low. Yuuri realized, not for the first time, how turned on he could get by the sound of his name rolling off Viktor’s tongue. ‘I gave you an orgasm. You know how the French say it’s a little death?’.

 

Suddenly, all thoughts of going back to Hogwarts fled from Yuuri’s mind. He smirked, locking eyes with Viktor.

 

‘Your eyes have little specks of gold in them’, Viktor murmured, full of wonder. Yuuri stared back at him, unsure how Viktor could see anything in the setting dark. As if reading his thoughts, Viktor waved his hand, producing a soft, glowing light that filled the room.

 

‘You know wandless magic’, Yuuri said. ‘Of course you know it’.

 

‘Two spells’, Viktor smiled. ‘To impress you’.

 

Yuuri kissed the corner of his mouth.

 

‘Consider me impressed’, he allowed, moving his lips to Viktor’s chin. It was so convenient they were already naked. ‘And what do you mean a little death?’, he asked, glancing up straight into Viktor’s dilated pupils. ‘There was nothing little about it’.

 

He smirked – it was high time to return the favour, Yuuri thought. He barely contained his eagerness at the thought of taking Viktor in his mouth, watching him come undone in ways that were breath-taking and absolute. But he worked his way down slowly, sliding his legs on the white bed sheets, pecking Viktor’s skin. There was a constellation of freckles on Viktor’s lower abdomen. Yuuri took a delight in kissing every single one of them until Viktor began to tremble.

 

They weren’t going back to Hogwarts until the morning. They had the whole night.

 

Yuuri was going to take his time.

 

 

***

 

 

‘To be fair, Yuuri’, Viktor said much later, once the sun had completely set and the only light in the darkness had disappeared along with Viktor’s lost control, ‘to be fair, Yurio wouldn’t think that I was gonna kill you. He knew I had been out looking for you’.

 

Yuuri breathed in Viktor’s scent. It was warm and musky, almond and cherry, almost like Yuuri’s spell, only better, more real. He wished he could see Viktor’s face, but in the darkness, he could barely make out its vague, angular shape.

 

‘Had you?’, Yuuri asked softly.

 

Viktor kissed his temple.

 

‘For a long time’.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... *sweats nervously*
> 
> Please save my dying crops and tell me what you think? It's the first time ever I'm posting a sex scene and only the second time I've even tried writing one in English and that was an Experience. 
> 
> Anyway - I've been waiting for a very long time to write this! I'm so excited to finally post this chapter but it feels so strange to realize that we've only got one chapter left and then - that's it. It's almost over. So... let me know if you'd be interested in reading a sequel?
> 
> I've just updated the tags and you might also notice that the rating has now gone up, too! 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com/) all the time if you wanna talk about Cherry Wood, YOI or other fun things (like dogs. Dogs are fun).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and see you next chapter!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Harry totally has an unused edition of Hogwarts, a History that he got from Hermione and never read~~


	12. Chapter 12

 

Yuuri woke up to the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs.

The room was cold.

It wasn’t how he’d been supposed to wake up. He remembered, if a bit hazily, how he’d thought he’d feel Viktor’s warmth by his side – the same warmth that had lulled him to sleep way past midnight.

Only Viktor was not there. Yuuri finally roused from his sleep, eyes still barely open. The bed was crumpled, Viktor’s side unmade. Yuuri unthinkingly smoothed the pillows with his hand. None of Viktor’s warmth lingered on the linens.

It was then that he realized he’d slept with Viktor.           

He’d slept with Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri knew himself. He almost waited for the familiar waves of panic, first shallow and then deeper until he would have no choice but to drown. Nothing came, though – nothing but the feeble doubt that maybe they had hurried. Perhaps it had been too soon. Yuuri did not mind, but they still had so much to talk about.

And they would talk about this and other things, only Viktor was not there.

Yuuri grabbed his wand from the bedside table and got up. No, he decided, his thoughts turning to the previous night – hurried they may have been, but he didn’t regret it one bit.

Perhaps Viktor was in the bathroom. Yuuri decided to stick to that thought in case his mind had other scenarios in mind, ones that would send him falling again.

There was no sound of water running in the shower.

He cast a quick _Tempus_ – nine thirty, later than he usually woke up in the competitive season; about the same time he’d got used to waking up in Hasetsu. The breakfast on the table smelled divine, and as Yuuri walked up to it, he noticed a single sheet of paper next to the coffee cup. It was torn out of the generic notepad provided by the hotel, but Yuuri would recognize the handwriting anywhere.

_Yuuri <3 _

_I didn’t want to wake you up but I can’t skip my morning run. Yakov would kill me! I’ll be back soon._

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

It was nothing like what Yuuri had imagined – no heartfelt talk in each other’s arms, no lazy kisses that Yuuri had to admit he craved. The breakfast on the table had a Warming Spell on, though; Yuuri absently wondered long Viktor had been gone. Yet something eased inside Yuuri’s mind as if released from a spell.

He sat down and reluctantly began to eat. It would have been nice to share this. Viktor’s gesture to put the food under the spell was a thoughtful one, but now that Yuuri was left alone, the nondescript hotel room seemed off, as if Yuuri was put on a different axis.

The breakfast was warm, but it tasted like paper. Yuuri downed the coffee in one go. It was bitter, black, and he didn’t enjoy it.

He showered, quick even though he didn’t have to hurry. The idea of putting yesterday’s robes on made him uncomfortable, even with a Cleaning Charm, but Yuuri had no other choice. He wondered what the receptionist had thought of them, two strange men in outlandish clothes like from a Muggle movie set. They had not thought of so many things the night before.

When he was done, Yuuri wrapped himself in a hotel towel and returned to the room. Harry had always been after him to carry his wand with him at all times, but Yuuri never enjoyed how the steam from the bathroom dampened the cherry wood.

He closed the door, and the room returned to its right axis. Viktor was there.

‘You’re back’, Yuuri said, stupidly. Of course Viktor was back. He was standing in front of Yuuri, in obviously transfigured Muggle running gear, his long hair pulled back, sweaty and beautiful.

Something flickered in Viktor’s eyes. Yuuri thought he could read him well, but there were so many things at once painted on Viktor’s face that he had to reconsider – or maybe, looking at how they had messed everything up, he couldn’t read Viktor at all.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

‘I am’, Viktor just said. ‘Uhm. Hi’.

‘Hi’.

Viktor mumbled something in Russian, pale sibilants rolling off his tongue way too harshly. A curse, Yuuri was sure.

‘This is awkward’, Viktor then said. ‘I, uhm – I brought us Muggle clothes’.

Yuuri suddenly realized that he was still just in a towel and that they may have breached the Statute of Secrecy last night.

‘No worries’, Viktor said easily, as if reading his thoughts. ‘I told the owner we’d been at a clairvoyant conference’.

Yuuri looked at him, and Viktor looked straight back at him – and there it was, the bubbling laughter that they suddenly couldn’t hold back. Ridiculous, it was: standing there in a Muggle hotel in London, of all places, with a man you’d thought hated your guts, of all people, and having shagged the said man the previous night, of all things.  

‘We’re such idiots’, Yuuri said.

But Viktor just grinned. He flopped down on the chair where Yuuri had just sat, in front of the now empty plate.

‘Oh, Yuuri’, he blinked. ‘This is the smartest thing we’ve ever done’.

Yuuri still had just the towel on; he felt Viktor’s gaze linger on his body, all the way from the blush on his chest to the stretch mark spreading on his belly like a cherry tree. Embarrassment blossomed on his face, and before he knew it, he was grabbing the Muggle clothes and hastily putting it on.

Viktor watched him, half in curiosity, half in pale amusement.

‘Thanks for the breakfast’, Yuuri said to break the stilled silence. Viktor waved his hand.

‘Anytime’, he said. ‘I – I wanted to stay in bed with you’.

His face looked sickly sallow in the yellowish hotel light. Yuuri realised they hadn’t opened the curtains. He waved his wand, suddenly feeling an awful pressure to do it, as if he needed to let in more space to this small, shaky universe they were creating.

‘Why didn’t you, then?’, Yuuri asked. Whatever Viktor had written about Yakov did not seem a plausible excuse, not when he’d been willing to Portkey Yuuri off to London just the night before.

Viktor shrugged, not meeting Yuuri’s eyes, but then his expression shifted, and his gaze fell straight at Yuuri, beautiful, blue and raw.

‘I wanted to be with you’, he said. ‘But I needed to clear my head. You know how sometimes you get restless because there’s a voice in your head that won’t shut up?’.

Yuuri nodded, surprised but silent. He knew that too well.

‘I just – I think I needed to re-evaluate before everything. The world’s too much, sometimes’.

‘It is’, Yuuri said. The world had always been like this, as long as he’d remembered – but he always thought he was drowning alone. Yet there was Viktor: Viktor, who faced the pressure of the defending champion, who had become a wizarding celebrity for no other reason than the spells flying from his wand and his inescapable, incandescent beauty.

There were things Yuuri would rather come to terms with alone, too.

‘Thanks for the breakfast’, he just mumbled before he realized he’d already said that.

Viktor’s entire face momentarily brightened; it was almost uncanny and Yuuri felt threw off the loop, as if he’d missed a spell.

‘Anytime!’, Viktor chirped with a wink, but then sobered. ‘I think I’ll take a shower. Would you – would you like to go somewhere? To explore?’.

Yuuri stared. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead – yesterday was a path that ended there, in the same hotel room they were sitting now.

‘Sure’, he said. ‘What else could we do?’.

Viktor smiled, a lazy languid smile that sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine. Then he winked again; and as soon as a blink he was gone, leaving Yuuri alone in the room, one more time, in trousers that suddenly grew a bit uncomfortable and with a heart that was beating way too fast.

Well, Yuuri thought, so this is how it is then.

_I guess I’m falling in love._

***

 

London, Yuuri decided, was absolutely baffling.

They sneaked into a corner behind their Islington hotel and Apparated to the City. Viktor had promised Yuuri to “show him all the perfect places’ and decided that a view on the Thames had to be one of them, even though the Thames was possibly the most polluted river Yuuri had ever laid his eyes on.

‘It’s not pollution’, Viktor denied as if Yuuri had offended him personally. ‘It’s mud!’.

And he ranted for the entire time they walked on Lambeth Bridge. Yuuri hadn’t expected that; yet truth be told, Viktor had spat various trivia at him in his letters. Maybe Yuuri shouldn’t be surprised.

‘How do you know all of this?’, he finally asked.

Viktor let his mouth twist into something that was not a smile. His demeanour changed in seconds, now much more reserved. There was an ashamed note in the slouching line of his shoulders that Yuuri hated to see.

‘I don’t have that many friends’, he said, and Yuuri could only imagine what it meant. ‘So I read instead’.

Once off the bridge, he turned right and led Yuuri down the street, away from the Thames, once meeting his eyes and then shying away. All Yuri could do was to reach out his hand, slowly, like a bird spreading its wings to fly for the first time. Their fingers intertwined. Viktor’s hands were freezing cold.

‘Where are we going?’, he asked.

‘Around’, Viktor just said. He grasped Yuuri’s hand a bit tighter. So tentative was it that Yuuri smiled.

They had slept together and now Viktor was too afraid to hold hands.

It shouldn’t be like this, Yuuri thought. Whatever it was that they had, he wanted it to be as sure as a well-aimed spell. Although there was something endearing in Victor’s hesitance, Yuuri wished it to end. There had been too many uncertain gestures between them.

They walked down Millbank, the silence between them. Soon trees separated them from the muddy flow of the Thames. Yuuri cared little about his surroundings. What mattered more was Viktor’s hand in his own, Viktor’s long, pale eyelashes, the way they fluttered when he stole glances at Yuuri and then pretended not to.

‘Where are we going?’, he asked, at last. There were so many other things he wanted to say instead. But whatever it was that made Viktor so unsure also caused Yuuri’s hesitancy now; Viktor was not comfortable enough to talk, not yet. Yuuri would wait.

‘Around’, Viktor just said. A sudden twinkle appeared in his blue eyes, as if he’d been plotting some mischief. ‘You’ll see’.

He grabbed Yuuri’s hand tighter. Yuuri smiled. Soon, they would return to Hogwarts, to duels and to practice, to days spent on researching spells and listening to the echo of footsteps on the duelling platform. Yuuri didn’t know how their lives would change now – it was so early, so strange to think about it. Not so long ago, he’d been locked away in the safe bubble of Hasetsu, outside of all of this – and now, instead of charging as if on the duelling platform, he walked into his feelings softly, as if through the mist and into the sunlight, with Viktor by his side.

Yuuri felt the first, unsure droplets of rain kissing his face. Viktor must have noticed that, too; Yuuri caught a familiar shift in his posture as he took hold of his wand.

‘No’, he said. ‘Don’t’.

Sometimes, magic felt like cheating. Whatever they had now demanded no spells. Yuuri shook his head.

‘I don’t want you to get drenched’, Viktor said.

‘No’, Yuuri replied. ‘I – I don’t mind. I just thought – never mind. It wouldn’t do for the non-magical people to see we’re still dry’.

‘What did you think?’, Viktor asked, though, as if Yuuri’s brushed-off response meant nothing.

Yuuri fell silent for a moment. His anxiety stretched between him and Viktor, and away and beyond, flowing swifter than the snail-like stream of the Thames.

It would be so easy, he knew, to get buried under the weight of his thoughts. Yuuri was no stranger to that.

And he didn’t want Viktor to remain a stranger – they were far more than that, and yet still not enough. If they wanted it to work, whatever it was between them, Yuuri knew that they had to open up, both of them. And if Yuuri was better at closing himself off until nothing was left of him but an invisible barrier – well, maybe it would take Viktor to tear it down.

At least, Yuuri could give him a helping hand.

‘I – it’s nothing, really’, he said, even though they both knew it was not nothing, but sometimes understatements made it feel even more real. ‘I just sometimes feel like the world’s more tangible without magic’.

He risked a glance at Viktor. He didn’t look as if he was going to let go of Yuuri’s hand, or let go of Yuuri altogether – if anything, he seemed curious. In the short moment between Yuuri’s words and what Viktor said next, a number of possible reactions flew through Yuuri’s mind, but not even one prepared him for what Viktor said.

‘Do you feel like we’re cheating?’

‘Cheating?’

‘With magic’, Viktor clarified.

Yuuri stared. It wasn’t that, or maybe it was, or maybe – not really. Sometimes Yuuri didn’t even make any sense of himself. And he didn’t know how to explain it to Viktor.

‘When I was in Hasetsu, after my last competition’, he finally said, ‘I pushed magic away. I didn’t cast any spells for a long time. I think – I think it made me feel more grounded. I couldn’t take anything away with a flick of my wand’.

‘But you love magic’, Viktor said. ‘It’s in the way you move – on the platform, you can see it. It’s like you create magic with your whole body’.

‘I love magic’, Yuuri said. ‘That’s true. It’s just – maybe there’s more to life than magic’.

A year ago, Yuuri would have never said that – duelling was all he had. And now he’d lost it – dropped out of the competition, unsure even whether to come back. And somehow, miraculously, life still went on, slow and unhurried like their walk.

Viktor appeared thoughtful. Yuuri was afraid that he’d push him away, but all Viktor did was to unlink their fingers and put his arm around Yuuri, pulling him closer.

‘I think it’s the opposite for me’, he mused.

Yuuri knew what he meant. Viktor had thrown himself into duelling with even more fervour than Yuuri, with a dedication so uncommon that even in their sports discipline it was unequalled. Even Harry, the undisputed champion, never duelled for the sake of duelling itself; but Viktor – Viktor always looked as if he did it for the thrill of magic singing in his veins, as if duelling was the only thing that mattered.

But there was more. Yuuri knew that empty look well; he did not think of Viktor’s face as made of marble for nothing.

‘You duelled like there was nothing else, Yuuri’, Viktor said, as if reading his thoughts, ‘but I duelled like there was nothing’.

Yuuri didn’t reply, but he sought Viktor’s hand again and let their fingers become entangled. Perhaps Viktor was right to say that; back then, duelling had been the priority, the only way to prove himself. Yuuri never got to know what it was like to be the champion, the one who had nothing left to prove.

Perhaps, really, it was so simple – in duelling, it could be all or nothing.

He thought back to Viktor’s unapproachable figure on the platform, to the way he turned away from Yuuri and just walked away from the competition but not from Yuuri’s thoughts – never from Yuuri’s thoughts.

‘Why were you so absent, then?’, he suddenly asked.

‘Absent?’, Viktor repeated. ‘What do you mean?’.

Yuuri wasn’t so sure himself. There were so many blank spaces between them, the kind that words could hardly define and fill with colour. Whatever he’d say now would never reflect all the complexity of what had happened, of what he’d felt.

‘The first duel we had against each other’, he finally said, letting the words roll off his tongue with a careful, unsure melody. ‘In Sochi’.

‘I remember that one’, Victor said. There was a hint of a smile in his voice even though Yuuri didn’t look up to see it.

‘You do?’, he said, at last meeting Victor’s eyes. They were warmer than blue had any right to be, and it scared Yuuri more than he would admit even to himself. ‘I know we’ve talked about Sochi but you – back then, you ignored me. You didn’t acknowledge me at all, and you – you talked to other duellists’.

Viktor’s eyelid twitched. Yuuri knew: that was it, then. Viktor was going to untangle himself and let go of Yuuri, take a step forward and then walk away. And Yuuri would stay – not in London, but in the past, in the bubble, confused, heartbroken, and wanting.

Viktor did none of these things.

Instead, he pulled Yuuri closer, as if he was afraid of the same thing – that Yuuri would leave him, which was ridiculous, because it was Yuuri who always got left behind, and it was always, always Yuuri’s fault.

‘Yuuri’, Viktor then said. ‘Were you really afraid of this? All this time?’.

‘I just don’t understand’, Yuuri said, softly.

The space around them began to fill with meanings Yuuri had no hopes of catching; he caught sight of so many different things in Viktor’s face, and all of them were strange and inexplicable, like spells he had yet to tap into and discover.

‘Yuuri, I’m so sorry’.

And then Viktor was hugging him. Yuuri was no stranger to hugs – even if his own family was affectionate in other ways, Phichit was the kind of a friend to wrap his arms around Yuuri any chance he got. But none of those hugs were even close to this. Yuuri had never felt like that – as if Viktor was holding on to him with all he had, a desperation not visible even in his spells.

‘I’m so sorry’, Viktor whispered.

‘What for?’, Yuuri asked. He still didn’t understand – for what they were trying to resolve, nothing really had been said.

‘I didn’t want to give such an impression’, Viktor said into Yuuri’s ear, his breath hot and tickling Yuuri’s earlobe.

‘An impression’, Yuuri repeated.

‘That I was like that. Like, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to come across as such a dick’.

‘You – wait a moment’, Yuuri said, turning his head and taking a tiny step back so that he could meet Viktor’s eyes.

They were in the middle of the pavement. Yuuri really hadn’t thought they’d have their perhaps most important conversation so far in such a public place. He was well too aware of people passing them by.

‘You don’t get to say that about yourself’, Yuuri said. ‘It’s rude’.

‘But it’s true’, Viktor said, and then he smiled, indulgently, but also with a tint of sadness. ‘I can’t believe this is what you say after I apologise, Yuuri. You’re— never mind. It’s just that I never meant for anything like that happen’.

‘What was it, then?’, Yuuri asked, suddenly tired. This whole conversation felt like a weird circle of stalling; whenever they came close to clearing the air, one of them would stop, and Yuuri wanted nothing more than to go forward, as Viktor had promised that they were going.

‘You know it wasn’t my best day’, Viktor said, again so softly. ‘I was so tense because of Makkachin and the duels took all of my willpower. I wanted nothing more than to Apparate away and stay with Makka until she would recover’, he smiled, dryly, and it didn’t really suit his face. ‘Focusing on duelling and on people both turned out to be too much. And then – you were there, and you were so beautiful, and don’t you see? I was being a mess. It’s just – it wasn’t easy to ignore you, Yuuri, but I preferred that to showing you what I was really like’.

Yuuri took a deep breath.

It was too much, somehow, and yet felt like not enough. Not enough for all the dragging months of doubt.

Yuuri didn’t know what to think, so he thought nothing, forcibly filling his mind with all the blank spaces in the world until the reality became more stable, and he himself – more grounded. Viktor was still looking at him, a raw open expression on his face that Yuuri both hated and loved to see. Suddenly he knew: this was really it, then. They talked about it, and it was almost over.

‘How is Makka now?’, Yuuri asked.

Viktor jerked, as if not expecting it, and fair enough – Yuuri didn’t expect it, either, but he said it anyway. Stalling was what they were good at doing.

‘She’s fine. She’s good now’, Viktor said, and then hesitated. ‘She’d love you’.

And it was really this simple. The blanks in Yuuri’s mind began to slowly fill in with colour. He heard all that Viktor didn’t say, the soft whispers of future and hope and all the things Yuuri wished they would have.

Yuuri wanted to laugh, they had been so ridiculous.

‘You were not being a dick’, he told Viktor. ‘You were being a dork’.

 

***

 

‘I don’t believe I said that to you’.

‘You were right’, Viktor said. ‘It was – perhaps not the best course of action on my part’.

They had long passed the Parliament building, Viktor loudly complaining about having no camera, s if they had just not had a conversation that left them all shaken and tired as if after a long, gruelling duel.

Yet Yuuri was glad. It was as if a spell had been lifted: Viktor no longer hesitated to grab Yuuri’s hand – in fact, he held it all the time now, and Yuuri had not even realized he liked to be touched, but now he really, really did not mind.

And he could breathe so lightly.

There were still so many undecided things, but Yuuri realized he didn’t care. Perhaps it was alright to take it one step at a time, just the way they were walking.

Yuuri really couldn’t be not okay with that.

‘So where are we going?’, he asked again.

Viktor had not been keen to answer before, but now his entire face brightened, and he waved his hand in the direction of a huge neoclassical building looming over a square that Yuuri vaguely recognized. Viktor ended up almost hitting a passer-by with it.

‘Viktor’, Yuuri admonished.

‘I’m sorry! Oh no, I’m so sorry’, Viktor was quick to say. ‘I’m just excited, alright? I didn’t mean to’.

Yuuri closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, Viktor kissed him.

‘Look’, he said. ‘There’.

‘What’s that?’, Yuuri asked.

‘The National Gallery’, Viktor said, grinning. ‘An art museum. Remember how I told you I’d booked a place in London to look at paintings? Well, Yuuri’, he kissed the top of his head, ‘we’re going to have a date’.

Yuuri knew little about European art, and now it seemed so clear that he also knew little about Viktor. They may have exchanged their letters, but there was still so much to discover, so many questions to ask and blanks to fill.

‘What do you like?’, Yuuri suddenly asked.

‘Like?’

‘Your hobbies’, Yuuri said. ‘I – I just want to get to know you better’.

‘Dogs’, Viktor answered ‘You. Pretty paintings. Reading, if I have time for it, but I don’t have much. Butterflies’.

‘Butterflies?’, Yuuri asked.

‘They’re pretty’, Viktor said.

Once they entered the museum, he led Yuuri to one hall. The surety of Viktor footsteps told Yuuri that he must have visited it before. It was all quicker than Yuuri’d expect, and the museum was much more crowded, enough that it felt weird to be in this grand interior, which looked like it should be admired in solitude, not among so many people who were taking pictures which – Yuuri was sure – would never, ever move the way magical photographs did.

‘Just no magic here, please’, Yuuri whispered.

‘Oh, I know’, Viktor said, waving his hand again. ‘And really, Yuuri, there’s so much magic here, we don’t need any more. Look’.

He put one hand on the small of Yuuri’s back, guiding him towards a painting which seemed to attract a particularly tight crowd. Yuuri hardly focused on the art around him, conscious of Viktor’s touch and the subtle way he smelled like almond and cherries.

‘Look’, Viktor said again as the crowd dispersed.

It was a painting that Yuuri had seen before. A bunch of sunflowers against a paler yellow background, the flowers as rich in colour as Yuuri’s golden Mahoutokoro robes. It was pretty, but not in a way that Yuuri was fond of, unlike his long-time favourite ukiyo-e woodblock prints. He glanced at Viktor and was surprised to find out that he wasn’t admiring the painting.

He was staring at Yuuri.

‘You don’t like it’, he said.

‘No’, Yuuri was quick to deny. ‘It’s not that. It’s very... you know. Yellow’.

Victor gave Yuuri a long, searching gaze before turning his head toward the painting. They could barely see it now, tourists flocking to and from, but the two of them were still standing in the exact same spot. Yuuri thought it was as if the time had frozen, like in the Muggle movies his dad so enjoyed watching.

‘It’s not my favourite’, Viktor finally, corners of his mouth rising slightly when he glanced back at Yuuri. ‘I’m going to snatch you away to Amsterdam some time to show you the one I like, it’s inspired by Japanese art and I’m curious what you’d say – but never mind. It’s just... this artist, van Gogh. As Muggle as they get, and yet he made such magic’.

Yuuri had never heard Viktor speak like this, not in his letters, not in the interviews, with a passion for something other than duelling. Yuuri peered at the painting again, but try as he might, he did not see any magic in it; it was just a painting, a pretty one, a yellow one, nothing less, nothing more.

‘It reminds me of what we do, Yuuri’, Viktor then said. His arm around Yuuri tightened, pulling him closer, and soon Viktor rested his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, hugging him from behind, still talking. His breath tickled Yuuri’s neck. ‘Van Gogh, he painted so many versions of sunflowers. They’re all over the world now, Munich, Tokyo, you name it’.

Yuuri suddenly grew very conscious of how Viktor’s body was touching his – Viktor’s breath still danced on Yuuri’s skin like a fairy, and his fingertips rested on Yuuri’s hips, light like cherry blossoms. He shifted, just slightly, and let his hand rest on Viktor’s in a silent promise.

They should have never left that hotel room.

But Viktor was still talking.

‘It’s hard to put into words’, he whispered straight into Yuuri’s ear. ‘But I think that it showed me how duelling is like art. Van Gogh painted so many of these, and they’re all so beautiful, in similar and yet so different ways. It’s just like spells can be, isn’t it? The way you always do your Stupefies a bit differently, for example. Don’t think I didn’t notice – the tiny shifts in power, the minute twitch of the wand, the subtle way you balance your body. You make art, Yuuri, and there’s more than right way to do it’.

Viktor paused, although his hands did not leave Yuuri’s body. Yuuri was waiting – he did not anticipate this kind of tension, almost as if they had Apparated back to that hotel room, and he did not think that Viktor was yet done talking. So he waited, the sunflowers looming in front of his unfocused eyes with the same golden hues he’d known so long.

‘It’s art, is it not?’, Viktor asked, his voice low, and kissed Yuuri’s temple. ‘Even when you’re trying, it’s art. If it’s different, doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful’.

Yuuri had no idea where they would go from there. People still crowded around them and the painting with the kind of bustle that brought him comfort, so predictable and unsurprising it was.

What Viktor said resonated within his heart like a long-forgotten genre of music. Yuuri had no clue how Viktor had discovered all the things about Yuuri, all his worries and spirals of self-doubt, perhaps even all these bottomless nights when Yuuri had been falling, falling, helpless like a cherry petal.

And yet, unaware though Yuuri was, Viktor had brought him here. Viktor had shown Yuuri a part of himself that was as personal as their conversation the day before, even if it felt so in other ways. And he reached out to Yuuri, somehow coming as close to what it was like to be in Yuuri’s head as someone other than Yuuri.

There they were: in London, in front of a painting Yuuri was just beginning to see in a different light, through a golden-hued lens, and Viktor was reaching out his hand. But he was just Yuuri, who was as good at evading closeness as he was at avoiding spells; Yuuri, quick to assume and spiral to conclusions, and no stranger to breathing harshly as he observed the inevitable way that things were churning.

But now, Viktor was there, with him, waiting. And Yuuri had had enough of that – of being the one who did not let people stay close to him, the one who later spent the nights laying wide awake, staring at the ceiling. If Yuuri made things happen, it had always been in infrequent bursts, like in explosions of accidental magic.

Yuuri couldn’t blow this up, though. He was going to meet Viktor halfway.

‘I have anxiety’, he said. ‘Not the way you often think, like when people say they’re depressed when they’re sad. Not this kind. The other kind’.

Yuuri had thought that perhaps this is how Viktor would hear his heartbeat, with the way Yuuri’s shoulders would tense and his breath would hitch – but there came nothing other than an odd sense of calm. Viktor just nuzzled Yuuri’s hair, resting his cheek against his head, and realized he might melt but he would not panic, not this time.

‘Thank you for telling me’, Viktor simply said.

Yuuri wondered whether he should add anything else – the exact reason his letters to Viktor arrived so infrequently, the way he duelled as if his magic was raging. But he said nothing. Something in Viktor’s voice told Yuuri that they both knew all that there was to know now.

He took one last lingering glance at _Sunflowers,_ golden like his Mahoutokoro robes.

‘Beautiful’, he said. ‘You were right’.

 

***

 

The Leaky Cauldron smelt of late lunchtime and butterbeer. Yuuri immediately melted into the welcoming hustle and bustle of the hidden place, relieved to leave the rush of Charing Cross Road behind. The woman behind the bar directed them towards Diagon Alley with a wink and a kind-hearted smile, even though her gaze turned a bit searching as she spotted Yuuri. He hoped she didn’t recognize him.

‘Attention makes you uncomfortable’, Viktor noticed. ‘She was just a fan’.

‘No one is _just_ a fan, Viktor’, Yuuri said. ‘People are always more than that. I just – I don’t want to disappoint anyone, okay?’.

Viktor drew his wand, tapping the bricks behind the Leaky Cauldron with an ease that told Yuuri he must have visited the magical street before. But it was Yuuri’s first time there.

‘You’re not gonna disappoint anyone’, Viktor said, casually, as the wall moved and began to reveal Diagon Alley in front of them. ‘You’re far more than a duellist, Yuuri. And anyway, the best thing to do on the platform is to try, it’s all that matters’.

Yuuri didn’t answer. Together, they stepped into the commotion of Diagon Alley – crammed with people and shops alike, sparks flying, brooms levitating. It didn’t resemble the unhurried, reliable magic of Hasetsu, yet the whirlwind didn’t make Yuuri uncomfortable.

It was almost like duelling, the quick flurry of activity, the fast pace, the spells flying above his head; some wizards were levitating their shopping, and Yuuri was fairly sure someone had Accioed a forgotten bag or two right above his head.

It felt a bit strange to walk on the pebbled street in his Muggle sneakers, but Yuuri didn’t feel out of place. Diagon Alley attracted so many different people that it was hard to stand out. He hoped no one would recognize them, even though the Veela-like colour of Viktor’s hair attracted some attention. Yuuri grasped Viktor’s hand tighter.

‘Where are we going?’, asked Yuuri as they navigated the street. Viktor seemed content to walk around and hold Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri had an unexpected flashback to his teenage crushes at Mahoutokoro, full of innocent hand-holding first and excited fumbling later in the far corners of the castle.

‘Just here and there’, Viktor said, uncaring of the destination. ‘Isn’t it nice, though? I often come here when I’m in London – they don’t recognize me here. You get to be Harry Potter to be spotted’.

He dragged Yuuri to a Quidditch shop and then to a bookstore, picking a number of enchanted bookmarks that screeched if you picked up a book and didn’t finish it; and then he insisted on buying Yuuri more robes, and Yuuri insisted against it, and soon it led to a kiss in front of a quaint ice cream parlour.

‘You can buy me ice cream’, Yuuri decided. ‘Not robes’.

‘Not even golden robes?’, Viktor teased, walking into the shop with a grin that seemed to startle the curly-haired owner.

Yuuri sobered.

‘The colour marks your accomplishments’, he said. ‘It changes as you grow as a wizard’.

Viktor nodded, seemingly unsurprised.

‘What would you like?’, he asked, and when Yuuri told him, and also rattled out his order, so complicated that it went over Yuuri’s head.

They sat at a tiny table, their knees touching. Viktor looked luminescent, his hair bright in the dimly lit interior, his blue eyes shining. Yuuri had never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

‘About the robes’, Viktor went on, and Yuuri’s eyes traced, helplessly, the line of his mouth. ‘What colour is the final one, then?’.

It was as if he knew, the corners of his mouth rising just so, teasing Yuuri when the tone of Viktor’s voice did not. Yuuri sighed, meeting Viktor’s eyes.

‘It’s gold’, he said.

He couldn’t help but think back to the competition in Sochi, when he’d been in his hotel room, staring at the robes Master Cialdini had picked out for him: the customary black with golden hems, a tasteful nod to the colour of his Mahoutokoro colours. The gold had weighted Yuuri down as if made of lead. Now – he could even smile at his thoughts, recalling the golden colour in mind. He had grown into it. It did not fit him yet, but he knew that it would.

‘I knew it was special to you’, Viktor mused. His finger touching Yuuri’s hand began to trace figures on it, ‘now you must think I was an entitled idiot, wearing gold like I did, too’.

Yuuri said nothing; perhaps he didn’t have to.

‘I really just wanted to show how impressed I was – am – by you’, Viktor said. ‘And Yuuri, you – you looked magnificent. Gold suits you’.

‘And here I am’, he said, but without bitterness, ‘without winning any’.

Viktor smiled, a private, shy thing, just for Yuuri.

‘We both know it’s not the best that there’s to win’.

Their ice cream arrived, levitated to their table by the helpful curly-haired owner. Viktor eyed his – enormous and colourful, with what Yuuri thought was butterbeer flavour – and then leaned in towards Yuuri, spoon in hand.

‘I was gonna wear white this season’, he said, conversationally, scooping some ice cream, ‘among the Mari – my mother’s people – it’s the colour of a wizard, or wisdom. My coach thought it would suit me. He seems to think that I’m not wise at all, but I make a good image, and we need symbols more than we need victories’.

He eyed the spoon and smirked at Yuuri, bringing it closer to Yuuri’s mouth. ‘Come on’, he whispered. ‘Try it’.

Yuuri did. There was something positively decadent about it, a thrill of the forbidden, even though they were just sitting in an ice cream shop; yet the intimacy was slowly overcoming all of Yuuri’s senses.

He didn’t even look at his own ice cream.

‘But you looked so amazing in gold’, Viktor said, bringing another spoonful close to Yuuri’s mouth. ‘Otherworldly. I wish the duelling robes didn’t have to black, so you’d be all in gold, shining, stunning us all’.

The ice cream tasted like butterbeer; Yuuri was right. Yet the flavour did nothing to him, not like Viktor’s words which went straight into his lower abdomen and made him shift in his chair. He licked the spoon, watching as Viktor’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue.

‘I wanted to duel you so badly’, Viktor said, ‘just to get closer to you’.

Yuuri’s own ice cream was melting, untouched. Yuuri decided he didn’t care. Their eyes met, Viktor’s pupils dilated just so. An idea flashed through Yuuri’s mind and he had no choice but to follow through.

‘Come with me’, he said. ‘Back to Hogwarts. We’ll duel there’, he licked his lips, the butterbeer flavour still lingering on his tongue. ‘I know just the place’.

 

***

 

They sneaked into Hogwart’s grounds, running through the lawns like teenagers caught in the rain. Yuuri reached to catch Viktor’s hand again, and soon they sneaked through the old, creaking doors. Nothing they did was forbidden, but Yuuri was riding high on the thrill of suspense, keen not to be noticed. He took out his cherry wand and laid it flat on his palm.

‘ _Point me_ ’, he whispered. The wand wavered.

They followed its lead, climbing up the stairs until they found themselves on the seventh floor, in front of a tapestry of a wizard who Yuuri didn’t recognize.

‘Barnabas the Barmy’, Viktor read the description. Yuuri grabbed his hand and tugged him so that they faced the opposite wall, which stood empty.

Yuuri turned his head and grinned and Viktor, excitement building in his chest.

‘Want to see a magic trick?’, he asked.

Viktor took a step back and smiled, putting one finger to his mouth.

‘Show me’, he said, something pleased in his voice.

Yuuri recalled one of Teddy’s stories, focusing so that he called forward what he needed, walking to and fro in front of the empty wall. He didn’t need to look up to see the door appear; Viktor’s delighted gasp was enough of a confirmation that the Room of Requirement was theirs to explore.

Yuuri opened the door and paused at the threshold. ‘Viktor’, he asked, ‘you coming?’

‘What is this place?’, Viktor asked, following Yuuri inside.

They entered a small room, not unlike the one in Yuuko’s shop where Yuuri had so often trained. It was bare – only a standard duelling platform drew them both like a magnet.

‘The Room of Requirement’, Yuuri told him. ‘It provides what you need’.

Viktor looked around, and then back at Yuuri with a wicked smile on his face. He took a step closer, and closer, and closer, until his forehead rested against Yuuri’s.

‘What if I need a kiss?’

He kissed softly, gently. Before Yuuri knew it, he pulled apart, his breath shallow, and caressed Yuuri’s cheek with his thumb. Yuuri would have nothing of it – he leaned in again, pulling Viktor into another kiss, this time with more passion and less hesitation. He ran his fingers down Viktor’s back and took a shaky breath, heart racing. Viktor smelled like almond and cherry, and tasted like only he could, both fresh and musky, and Yuuri wanted.

‘Do you think’, Viktor murmured against Yuuri’s chapped lips, ‘a bed will appear if I wish hard enough?’.

‘You’re impossible’, Yuuri said as he kissed the corner of his mouth, ‘didn’t you want to duel?’.

‘If that’s what they call it now’, Viktor said, and Yuuri couldn’t help it, he laughed.

‘If we duel now’, he said after a while, ‘it’s going to be my first time back on the platform in months’.

Viktor seemed to sense the subtle shift in his tone, the way Yuuri’s eyes darkened with surety and not from Viktor’s attention. He pecked Yuuri’s nose, once, and then untangled their arms, simply linking his fingers with Yuuri’s as he seemed to be fond of doing.

‘I’m ready when you are’, he said.

Yuuri slowly stepped on the platform, his Muggle sneakers weird against the wooden boards. He suddenly missed his reliable soft leather shoes. At least the way his wand felt in his hand brought Yuuri comfort.

Viktor joined him on the platform. It was so different, poles apart from the last time they crossed their wands. He was smiling now, gentle, his lips puffed red from kissing Yuuri.

‘On the count of three?’, Viktor now made sure, and Yuuri nodded, hardly able to believe what was happening.

Spells flashed.

Yuuri wasted a few precious seconds banishing his shoes; the cold wood under his bare feet grounded him more than any attack from Viktor could. It seemed to throw Viktor off the loop though, and he hesitated, so Yuuri moved into an attack sequence, _Stupefy, Hamaya, Expelliarmus,_ all silent. He smirked; Viktor turned the arrows into fire that he sent back at Yuuri, and _oh,_ how Yuuri had missed it, the thrill, the pace, the danger. He rolled out of the spell’s way, almost blasting Viktor out of the platform, meeting fire with ice, one spell at Viktor’s head, one at his feet, and soon there were dancing.

Viktor was phenomenal with his wand, but Yuuri had no time to appreciate it - curses flew so fast he just fell in the reliable, but ever-changing rhythm of casting and blocking, evading and attacking. Even after all this time, the step sequences he’d been drilling felt like an old, familiar melody.

‘ _Nozh!_ ’ _,_ Victor then murmured the spell Yurio favoured. Yuuri fell flat on the platform as knives swished above his head, and he rolled onto his back, blocking the following spell, turning the knives into icicles and sending them straight at Viktor. He got back on his feet, a crash telling him Viktor had destroyed them, and soon he led Viktor into a frantic dance, a hailstorm of curses hitting the platform.

Yuuri moved into a well-known sequence, a lunge, _Stupefy,_ jump to the right, _Protego,_ and he knew: Viktor expected an _Expelliarmus,_ that’s how you ended the sequence, only Yuuri jumped forward, lunged again, close to the middle of the platform, and hollered a fiery _Ligneus Adsimulo!_ followed by a Crashing Curse.

Viktor’s entire body jerked as he moved back and blocked it, laughter erupting from his belly.

‘Good!’, he shouted, sending a wordless _Depulso,_ and Yuuri might be impressed by the focus it took but not excited about the curse. He overpowered his Protego and danced out of a Stunner’s way only to notice a Blasting Curse leading his way.

_Impedimenta,_ he thought and he missed, and then _what have I done_ as he dived back, and Viktor was shouting, and then a beam of light ever so slowly singed the ends of Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri was shouting too, but not a name, a spell, and then Viktor fell silent, petrified.

Yuuri turned back, the curse still flying, slow. He cast a Protego on the wall. They watched, Yuuri panting, Viktor unmoving, as the spell hit the shield. And then it was over.

Yuuri flicked his wand to lift the curse off Viktor. The man blinked a few times and then moved forward, grabbing Yuuri by his arms.

‘You scared me to death’, he exhaled, ‘I thought I was gonna hit you’.

His hair was dishevelled in a way Yuuri thought his bed look would be like, the one he hadn’t got to see in the morning; his cheeks were flushed, and he was digging his fingers into Yuuri’s arms so forcefully that it almost hurt.

‘Viktor’, Yuuri said. ‘I’m okay. It wasn’t the first time a _Confringo_ flew at my head’.

‘I thought it would hit you’, Viktor repeated, his voice frantic, and Yuuri grabbed one of his hands and put it on his chest, just where his heart was.

‘Can you feel? I’m here’, he said. ‘And it was just a Blasting Curse. Nothing to worry about’.

They stood like that a long while, and Yuuri observed how Viktor’s breathing slowly evened out. The cold of the platform’s wooden boards seeped into the holes of his feet.

‘What did you do’, Viktor asked then. ‘The spell. How?’

‘I was gonna hit you and missed’, Yuuri said, ‘and somehow my spell hit yours and slowed it down. I – I didn’t think it would be possible’.

‘I thought it was not’, Viktor said. ‘I thought I—‘

‘No’, Yuuri said. ‘You don’t get to say it’.

Yuuri didn’t understand it either, the way spells influenced one another, but it was a conversation for another day, not in the midst of post-duel confusion, not when they were together and Yuuri wanted to kiss him so badly, not when the most important spell was in Viktor’s eyes and charmed its way into Yuuri’s heart.

‘You won’, Viktor said instead.

Back in the competitive season, Yuuri had imagined all the ways this could go: Viktor, looking up to him from on the podium, silver on his neck bright like his hair. Yuuri, sneering down at him, or just looking, no expression on his face, passive, not letting Viktor to see his emotions – not even letting him be worthy of Yuuri’s victory. Yuuri’s golden robes would feel just right for the first time. They would glimmer so much that the gold medal would disappear on his chest – Yuuri would become golden, all of him, the whole of him, and there would be no place in his heart for the faraway beauty of Viktor Nikiforov.

Never had he imagined this, instead.

He was still wearing the Muggle outfit Viktor had given him in the morning, white sneakers abandoned somewhere on the floor, and there were no golden robes in sight; and Yuuri, a bit cold, and a tad tired, and with his heart melting, realized he had never needed them at all. It had never been about the robes.

It had never even been about the winning.

‘I won’, Yuuri said, quietly. ‘Does it matter?’.

It may have been his voice, or maybe the way he pressed his body against Viktor, that got the point across – whatever was Viktor’s answer to that, it got lost in a kiss as he tilted his head and their lips touched, chapped, hungry. Yuuri let his hands melt in the soft silver of Viktor’s hair. He gasped as Viktor nibbled on his lower lip, and that was all they needed to deepen the kiss, to grow more impatient.

‘Do you think’, Viktor broke the kiss and said in between two breaths, ‘we may need a bed after all?’

Yuuri laughed into Viktor’s collarbone, weightless.

‘You need to wish hard enough’, he said, moving his hands under Viktor’s Muggle cotton shirt. Viktor’s skin, smooth, was electrifying.

_‘_ Is this hard enough?’, Viktor asked, and Yuuri opened his eyes, suddenly aware he’d closed them – when? – only to realize that yes, a bed was there, and the platform had disappeared.

‘Maybe you should wish our clothes away’, he murmured against Viktor’s clavicle, grabbing the soft cotton of his shirt and pulling it until Viktor’s chest was bare and more kissable.

‘Says the man who needs no spells’, Viktor laughed, and Yuuri would think _I’ve chosen well, he can be such a dork in bed,_ only he was too busy kissing Viktor’s collarbones and they hadn’t even gotten to the bed stage yet.

Which was, obviously, unacceptable.

He tugged Viktor by his hips until they both fell on the cloud-soft mattress. Viktor laughed, his silver hair tickling Yuuri’s neck. Then Viktor looked up, a bit mischievous; before Yuuri knew it, a wandless Banishing Spell got rid of their remaining clothes.

‘Neat’, Yuuri said.

H flipped them until he could pin Viktor’s arms with his own, locking his eyes with him, getting lost in the impossible blueness. Viktor was flushed, his hair a silver mess, his blush going down his chest.

Yuuri wanted everything.

‘Stop staring’, Viktor laughed, ‘just fuck me’.

That did it; Viktor’s eyes were dark, his scent so musky, and Yuuri’s dick stirred. He kissed Viktor again, this time sweetly, keeping their arms still linked together on the bed.

‘Are you sure?’, he asked.

Viktor moved his hips against Yuuri’s, naked and very hard, and perhaps that would be enough of an answer.

‘Do I look like I’m not sure?’, Viktor answered, smug if not impatient.

Yuuri kissed him again, a peck on the forehead as he let their hands go free.

‘You look like someone who’s gonna be even surer if I ask you one more time’, he said and leaned in. Viktor’s eyes were impossibly dark, his pupils black and dilated as if an entire universe was hiding in them. ‘Did you wish for lube, too, or just a bed?’.

Viktor nibbled on Yuuri’s earlobe, his hand reaching down until he wrapped it around Yuuri’s dick.

‘Yuuri’, he said, ‘you told me himself you could get what you need if you wish hard enough’.

Yuuri gasped, and _oh,_ it was so unfair that he couldn’t really focus. He closed his eyes. His mind went blank; all that he felt was Viktor’s fingers around him, moving, the touch sweet like cherries, even though the angle couldn’t be that comfortable for him.

Viktor laughed again.

‘Someone’s not wishing hard enough’, he said. ‘Don’t worry, honey, I got this’.

Yuuri opened his eyes. Viktor was breath-taking as he lay under him with his expression so open and so full of lust. Yuuri fumbled for the lube and moved back until he could plant a kiss on Viktor’s inner thigh.

He coated his finger and was just about to touch Viktor’s thighs to spread them wide, but Viktor moved on his own, smooth, languid, wanting.

‘Go on’, he said, ‘I need you’.

But Yuuri paused, taking in the sight that Victor made, pink blossoming on his skin against the white sheets, his dick hard against his belly.

‘Beautiful’, he said, kissing a spot near Viktor’s knee and massaging Viktor’s entrance,  ‘breathtaking, you’re – breathtaking’.

Viktor gasped, his head falling back. Yuuri wished, not without desperation, to stop the time so he could live in this moment forever. He entered one finger; Viktor made a noise that felt longer than it lasted. Yuuri moved his finger. An eternity flew by, then another, and yet another one; Yuuri put another finger in, pushing slowly, and if he really enjoyed the way Viktor’s head fell back and his pale neck looked ready to be kissed, no one could blame him.

‘Yuuri’, Viktor murmured, his voice hitching just slightly, ‘just – come on. No teasing. I’m ready’.

Yuuri whispered a Protection Spell under his breath and locked his eyes with Viktor, gently massaging his inner thigh.

‘How do you want it?’, he asked.

‘Let me see you’, Viktor said. He reached his hand and pulled Yuuri towards himself, kissing him hungrily, messily, ‘I want to see you’.

‘Okay’, Yuuri said.

Viktor again was under him, stunning. Yuuri held his breath as he entered him slowly. Viktor exhaled, his breathing loud, hot against Yuuri’s neck.

‘Viktor?’, asked Yuuri.

‘I’m okay’, he answered, ‘Are you?’,

‘Yes’, Yuuri breathed out into Viktor’s neck, planting a kiss on his jaw, ‘yes’.

‘Move’, Viktor said, ‘I need you’.

Yuuri did, slowly, careful not to hurt him. Viktor embraced Yuuri, his hands on Yuuri’s back, and they were linked as close together as they could be, joined, locked.

Yuuri had never felt anything like this, as if the universe narrowed down to this one moment, to the bed with soft white sheets and creaking bedsprings, to Viktor, whose fingertips were going to leave moon-shaped marks on Yuuri’s back, but he didn’t care.

‘Yes’, Viktor breathed out, ‘amazing’, but then Yuuri dived in to kiss him and he talked no more.

 

***

 

‘ _Expecto Patronus!’_

‘No, not like this. Focus on the memory. The wand movement, that’s secondary, the memory comes first’.

They were still in bed, entangled in the bedsheets. Yuuri kept moving his foot up and down Viktor’s calf, his left hand lost in Viktor’s hair.

Viktor’s birch wand was aimed at the high ceiling.

‘Try again’, Yuuri said.

Viktor did. This time, the spell blossomed silver in front of their eyes. The mist formed a solid shape of a dog – a really enthusiastic one, if the tail-wagging and hugs the Patronus gave Viktor were anything to go by.

‘You got it’, Yuuri said, ‘That’s –‘

‘Amazing’, Viktor finished. ‘Look at her, so cute! How can she be so cute?’.

‘She’s a dog’, Yuuri said.

‘Well, true’, Viktor mused, trying to pet the silvery shape and failing, ‘that explains it’. He rested his head against Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri took the chance to kiss the top of his head; Viktor hummed.

‘About your Patronus’, he said, ‘do you know sables can mate for longer than six hours?’.

Yuuri snorted; he moved to the side so that Viktor’s head fell on his outstretched arm and he spooned him from behind, nuzzling his silver hair.

‘And you’re referring to what, exactly?’, he asked. ‘And wait. Viktor, how did you even find it out?’.

‘In the morning, when I went out and you were sleeping’, Viktor answered, lazily. ‘I got curious. And I just wanted to say that your stamina is commendable’.

‘Commendable’, Yuuri repeated.

‘Admirable’, Viktor smirked, turning around so that they lay face to face, ‘exemplary. Praiseworthy’.

‘Oh, stop it’, Yuuri said, kissing his smirk away.

 

***

 

They took entirely too much pleasure from sneaking out of the Room of Requirement and tip-toeing down to the Great Hall as if they were still teenaged students slipping from the dorms for a sloppy session of midnight snogging.

‘We don’t really look presentable’, Viktor pointed out, terribly pleased with himself. He reached out to slick back a few strays of Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri was missing a sock and even the Room of Requirement didn’t seem fit to provide him one.

‘We should just Accio our things from the dorms’, Yuuri said, and he did just that, but Viktor tilted his head.

‘I’m in a mood for starting a new fashion’, he grinned. ‘I haven’t fired up my coach in a while’.

‘You just ran away with me and no one has heard a word from you since your duel’, Yuuri said, dryly.

The robes arrived with a swish. Yuuri would have blushed more at Viktor’s _You mean they didn’t hear me calling your name_ if he hadn’t noticed the golden hue glimmering in the dark, candle-lit corridor.

‘I didn’t necessarily mean _these’,_ Yuuri said, bringing the soft material to his eyes.

He hadn’t wished for any robes in particular when he cast his spell. He had no idea whether Accio worked randomly or in magical ways he had no understanding of, but here they were, his golden robes, ready to be worn, called to him by magic itself.

‘Put them on’, Viktor said, a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘What are you waiting for?’.

He took them from Yuuri and held them up for him. Yuuri slipped both of his arms into the wide sleeves. They had never felt this right before.

‘Let’s go’, he said.

The Entrance Hall was full to the brim, swishes of Portkeys echoing against the stone walls, chatter in a few languages covering up any noise they would make with their footsteps. Yuuri hesitated, unsure where to go; he had been supposed to stick close to Harry, after all, but in the commotion the man was nowhere to be seen.

Yurio found them first. He abandoned Mila Babicheva, who made a gesture as if she wanted to follow him but thought better of it, and he didn’t even glance at Yuuri.

He aimed his wand at Viktor instead.

‘You’, he said, ‘I’m not gonna deal with your shit. You hurt him, I hurt you. And _you’,_ he turned towards Yuuri, lowering his wand, ‘pulling a shit stunt like that, and fucking off with _him_ of all people!’.

Yuuri didn’t even get to say anything. Yurio glowered at him, his eyes inquisitive in a way that told Yuuri there was more to his indignation than simple teenage anger.

‘Are you happy?’, he finally growled.

Yuuri nodded, bemused. Something in Yurio’s tensed posture relaxed. He gave him a quick, terse nod back, pocketing his wand.

‘Good’, he said. ‘Watch your step, Nikiforov’, he threw at Viktor and disappeared in the crowd.

‘That went well’, Viktor chirped, looking around. ‘Have you seen my coach anywhere?’, he asked.

‘He’s with Yurio’, Yuuri said. Viktor grabbed his arm and smoothly turned them in the opposite direction.

‘Good. He’s not gonna shout at you. Let’s go find yours’.

‘He’s not my coach anymore’, Yuuri mumbled as Viktor elbowed their way through the crowd. People kept stealing glances at them, some openly staring, but thankfully none walked up to them. Yuuri was glad.

‘Mhm’, Viktor just said. ‘You’re not gonna come back to compete next season?’, he asked.

‘I don’t know what to tell you’, Yuuri said, truthfully.

There were so many areas of magic to explore. It had felt right to stand on the platform again, spells flying at his head, excitement flowing in his veins. And yet somehow, back in the bubble of Hasetsu, Yuuri had begun to reach out in different directions, for other dreams that bloomed in his chest like cherry blossoms.

‘You don’t have to tell me anything’, Viktor said, glancing back at him. ‘But I’ll be glad when you will’.

They found Harry, again in an intricate robe that must have been Hermione Granger’s choice. Draco Malfoy, the haughty wizard from before, hovered around him with an air of forced indifference that seemed to consume an unfairly huge amount of energy for a task that was not convincing anyone, including Harry, if his fond, amused expression was anything to go by. The two of them stood in a small circle of people, from which Yuuri recognized only Headmistress McGonagall and Malfoy’s snarky assistant. If they had attracted glances before, the arrival of Viktor and Yuuri, in his extravagant bright robes, caused even more heads to turn.

‘There you are’, McGonagall called. ‘And here we were, wondering when to notify the Aurors that you were missing’.

Yuuri bowed, apologies on the tip of his tongue, although it seemed to came unnoticed by Draco Malfoy.

‘Does your protégé have to be as troublesome as you were?’, he asked Harry snidely.

Harry turned his head towards him and began to speak much more quietly, but his reply was drowned in the noise when Viktor stepped forward and addressed Malfoy much louder than was necessary.

‘Excuse me’, he said, ‘but who are you?’.

Malfoy’s assistant snickered in the background, covering her mouth with her gloved hands. The man seemed to be torn between shredding Viktor to pieces and sending a glare her way; Harry finally put his hand on Malfoy’s arm in an obvious attempt to pacify him.

‘Draco Malfoy’, he finally introduced himself with a sneer. He obviously struggled to say something more, but whether it was Harry’s or McGonagall’s presence that stopped him, Yuuri couldn’t be sure.

‘Ah’, Viktor just said. He didn’t offer his own name.

‘Could you be a bit less rude?’, Yuuri hissed at him. The silence that stretched over their group grew uncomfortable, like robes a few sizes too small.

‘I can’t’, Viktor decided, his voice loud, again, ‘when he was being rude to you’.

‘Viktor—‘

‘That’s enough’, Harry interrupted. His voice was quiet, but it carried well. Again Yuuri became aware of Harry’s strong magical presence, even though – he was sure – Harry did not use any spell. ‘I can’t believe I’m the most responsible of you all’.

‘Seconded’, McGonagall sighed. ‘Mr Malfoy –‘

‘My apologies’, Malfoy cut in, his voice stiff.

‘I’m glad you came back safely, Yuuri’, Harry smiled, a twinkle in his green eyes, ‘but it’s almost time to head back home. We’re just saying our goodbyes’.

‘I hope you know you’re always welcome here, Mr Katsuki, Mr Nikiforov’, McGonagall said. ‘Hogwarts is always open for all those we seek it’.

She hugged Harry with more emotion that Yuuri expected from her, gave Malfoy a stiff, terse nod, and walked away. Yuuri soon lost her in the crowd.

‘Have you seen Teddy?’, he asked when the silence turned into an awkward, dull lull.

‘He’s already gone’, Harry replied simply. ‘Just moments ago. He packed your things but we didn’t expect this robe jumping out of your bags’.

Yuuri smiled, a bit sheepish; Harry rolled his eyes. Against Yuuri’s side, Viktor was being very quiet, unlike before.

‘You’ve met Harry, haven’t you?’, he said, even though he’d known the answer.

‘We’ve met’, Harry replied instead. ‘Good to see you again, Nikiforov’.

Viktor nodded and said something back. Yuuri thought he was going to drown in the awkwardness. Harry waved to some people who soon disappeared with a whirl of a Portkey, and Yuuri sieved through his mind, desperately trying to search for a conversation topic.

‘Finally! I couldn’t find you anywhere!’, someone called then.

Alejandra Rodriguez appeared behind Viktor, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Like Viktor, the woman was wearing Muggle clothing, a practical dark red coat that matched her short, dark hair.

‘I was hoping you’d have some time to spar’, she said to Viktor, ‘but you’d been gone before I even had a chance to look for you’.

She broke the hug, reaching her hand to Yuuri, who grasped it, all thumbs.

‘We’ve met, I remember’, she said casually, ‘but I don’t think we’ve duelled, right? I’d remember that too. You’re hellishly good with your Stunners’.

‘Thanks’, Yuuri said, ‘you too’, because he was the kind of the person who replied “you too” to waiters who brought him his meal, or to journalists who complimented his step sequences so he complimented their back despite being unaware whether those people had performed a step sequence in their lives.

‘Looking forward to seeing you next season’, Alejandra said. ‘You too, Viktor, it’s been too long. And oh, Mr Potter’, she finally noticed, ‘hello’.

She didn’t hug him like she did with Viktor, nor did she offer her hand, suddenly a bit shy. She gave an awkward wave; Yuuri suddenly felt a wave of sympathy towards her, endearing as she was.

‘I’m actually looking for my sister’, she said, ‘and for Viktor, but I’ve found him. Stay in touch, you numpty, you’re awful at writing letters, you know?’, she waved and walked away.

Yuuri had never thought Viktor was terrible when it came to correspondence.  

‘I guess it’s our cue, too’, Harry said. He was looking at Malfoy, addressing his words to no one in particular. Malfoy glanced at him back, something almost soft in his eyes that Yuuri never expected to see. ‘We’re Apparating to Grimmauld Place first, Yuuri’.

‘I should find my coach’, Viktor said. ‘But I’ll walk you out’.

Malfoy moved first, as if expecting the crowd to make way for him. Harry rolled his eyes and followed. The crowd, in fact, did move for him; Yuuri watched for a second before Malfoy’s assistant sighed loudly and headed in the same direction but at a more leisurely pace.

‘You coming?’, Viktor asked.

Yuuri nodded, taking Viktor’s warm hand into his. They left the grandeur of Hogwarts behind, with its enchanted ceilings and polished candelabras, creaking staircases and medieval beauty. Yuuri stepped out of the castle and into the late afternoon golden hour. The sun cast light on the black surface of the lake like gentle spells. The light reflected in his robe.

Yuuri thought it had to be magic. He squeezed Viktor’s hand. A fleeting thought flashed through his mind.

‘Viktor’, he began, ‘would you like to learn a spell?’

Viktor was holding Yuuri’s wand hand. He brought it to his lips, leaving a kiss brief like a butterfly’s flutter.

‘Of course, Yuuri’, he said. ‘Will you show me?’

Yuuri nodded. He let Viktor’s fingers envelop his wrist before he took out his cherry wand.

‘Take a deep breath’, he said to Viktor. ‘ _Sakura no kaori!’_

A faint scent of cherries surrounded them as if against the bleak autumn hardship, against all they had been through. Yuuri sent Viktor a quick smile. They walked out of Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade, towards other, brighter things.

‘What now?’, Viktor said. He pulled Yuuri closer, kissing his forehead. Yuuri let his eyelids fall.

‘I haven’t the foggiest’, Yuuri heard himself say. Viktor’s own scent, almond and cherry, danced with Yuuri’s spell. ‘It’s not over, though’.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
> ...But not really. I'm taking a short break to focus on some yet-to-be-posted oneshots but I'll be back with the sequel, What Blooms in Adversity, soon enough. I think February is a good guess - it's all planned, lots of drama in 9 chapters filled with domesticity and angst and dogs and magic. I'm making it into a series, Of Magic Things, so you can subscribe to it if you wanna read the sequel! 
> 
> I never expected that this fic would take so long to write and that it would be such a wonderful, wonderful journey. I'm really grateful for all your support and feedback and for staying with this story until the very end (which, I hope, is not the end at all!). I love you all. 
> 
> Special thanks go to [eternalsunshine13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13), [voxofthevoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid) and [SHSLshortie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie) for all their help, crying, screaming and enabling. You're wonderful, all of you. <3
> 
> Come haunt me on [tumblr](http://kaja-skowronek.tumblr.com) if you'd like!
> 
> Happy Holidays and Happy Viktor's Birthday <3


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